


Act the way you feel [reworked]

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angsty Schmoop, Arthur is 40, Blow Jobs, Booty Calls, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Fluff, Hook-Up, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Merlin is 22, Painter!Merlin, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), artist!Merlin, businessman!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Merlin's a young, hot, wildly uninhibited artist. Arthur's a middle-aged, handsome, millionaire businessman. He bumps into Merlin on a train and decides to go with the flow and see what happens. Orgasmic, paint-splattered, very confusing shenanigans ensue. It's exhausting ... and completely addictive._________This was an amazing WIP I found by an Anonymous author on KinkMe years ago (https://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/13287.html?thread=13164775). BUT - it wasn't finished! And that drove me CRAAAZY because I HATE my boys being left with unfinished business (no puns intended). So ... I took it upon myself to finish the story, hopefully preserving the original author's incredible characterisation and magic ... I hope she/he finds it one day and likes my reworking! <3





	1. Chapter 1

**** The carriage is disgustingly crowded.

Arthur had given up on trying to get some work done on his Blackberry after being smacked in the face with it every time the train decided to lurch or halt with almost malicious intent. He decided either the train driver was new, or sadistic. He was leaning more towards the latter, as the train staggered into the next station and even more commuters clambered in, shoving themselves neatly into the tin can like salted sardines. The increase in population forced the already over-populated carriage to pack in even tighter, the push making Arthur cram up against the back of a young man tuning out the world on his iPod. 

At the feel of Arthur’s front pressing along his side, the younger man looked down at him, dark blue eyes startled. Arthur shrugged, a little apologetic but more of a ‘what can you do?’ in the line of his shoulders. The younger man gave him a bright smile, his own returning ‘s’fine’ shrug. As the train lurched onward violently, Arthur had to dart his arm out and grab hold of a strap hanging from the ceiling, bracing himself as the younger man stumbled into him. He gave a small sheepish grin and mouthed an apology. 

That would have been the end of it, a normal exchange on a peak hour train between two strangers forced to endure close proximity, if not for the niggling suspicion Arthur had of the man stumbling into him a little too often, hands a little too casual. The next lurch had him grappling for the same strap Arthur was holding onto, elegant fingers warm and pale and lingering too long onto his own. Nothing that couldn’t be passed off as coincidence, accidental, but he had done his far share of pulling, and those blue eyes were as mischievous as they were contrite. 

The problem wasn’t attraction, the young man was very easy on the eyes - tall, dark, fair skinned - but far too young, and he’d seen too many associates get wrung dry trying to keep young lovers happy to think he would be the exception. The next lurch when the man ‘accidentally’ brushed up against him, Arthur slid his free hand up his fine neck, cupped his angular cheekbone and breathed in the clean scent of his hair, relishing in the shiver and hitch of breath as the man remained perfectly still, head bowed and shoulders forward, anticipatory. 

Arthur exhaled slowly over the shell of a perfect ear, close enough his breath left it wet. “I,” he drawled out, something hot unfurling when the man leaned in even closer. “Am far, far too old for you,” and the train lurched forward again, Arthur’s hand slipped away from the young man’s face and his body out of range, and that was the end of it.

Until the next jarring halt, and Arthur was forced forwards, his hand once again covered by insistent fingers. Blue eyes were determined, mouth adamant. “You really aren’t.”

Arthur smiled, but raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. The young man pouted, something petulant and wounded. “Really, you’re not.” 

Then, as if coming to some sort of realisation, he bent slightly and whispered, cheekily, “but if you can’t keep up with me old man, I’ll understand.” 

_Can’t keep up?_ His blue eyes were challenging, and Arthur’s narrowed. He pulled his hand free from the strap and moved towards the door, not bothering to respond. He wasn’t at all surprised to find the young man beside him on the platform, eyes dark and expectant. He crooked a finger and the man came willingly. 

“I’m going to fuck you until you fall over. Do you think you can keep up?”

Red lips were wet by a pink tongue.

“Yeah, I think I can do that.”

*

His name was Merlin. He could put his long legs over Arthur’s shoulders, be bent almost double and then some. His hands were clever, but mostly scrabbling, urgent, hasty and often in the wrong places, but that was to be expected at his age. He’d come twice before Arthur had even put a condom over his own erection, but was still eager enough to guide Arthur’s length into himself, offering himself up so good, so earnest and willing. Arthur had almost forgotten what sex that wasn’t mediated by power play was like, what it was like to want, mindlessly, for friction, for completion, for more and more and more until Merlin’s belly was so slick with sweat and come Arthur’s hand slipped through, unable to find purchase. He whimpered, and begged, so much so his voice had become hoarse, so fucked out and sated his legs slid bonelessly from Arthur’s shoulders, open and wanton and completely unconcerned with how he looked, and why would he? Merlin was young and beautiful, and for a few glorious hours, Arthur’s. 

*

He woke as if from a dream, satisfied and complacent, naked skin warmed and cosy against the sheets. His cock dragged against the pull of them, hard but not unpleasantly so. The rub was thoughtless, not really looking to get off, inbetween waking up and falling back asleep. There was no urgency, no pressing need, yet there was still a slow insistence, a quiet build refusing to dwindle. Wet warmth engulfed him, languid, exploratory, and Arthur allowed it, pushing under the sheets and cradling angular cheekbones, smoothing dark hair and letting the rhythm lull him into pleasure, let it rile him and flare into desire, pushing fingers between already occupied lips, letting his hips and fingers thrust gently, shallowly, into the source of the wet heat. Merlin’s lips parted, panting, heating up Arthur’s slick fingers, tongue licking at the digits delicately. His hand took place of his mouth, pumping slowly, twisting at the head. Arthur took his slick fingers away from Merlin’s swollen mouth and trailed a lewd line from his hipbone to his arse cheek, circling the entrance and dipping inside, teasing, repeating until Merlin whined and pushed back, hand stilling and erection forgotten.

“Get a condom and get up here.” 

But Merllin couldn’t resist the fingers toying with him, toying inside of him, shaping and stretching and so good, couldn’t help impaling himself on them, moving back over and over and yes, yes, like that, a little more, oh, hadn’t even realised his elbows had collapsed, that he was face down and breathing in Arthur’s scent, only needing those fingers deeper, needing-- he pulled at himself, close, frantic, so goddamn close, but the fingers withdrew abruptly and he cried out, cried out more sharply when the fingers left wet strips as it rained down on his arse cheek, the pain jolting through his system, making his nipples ache. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Arthur’s gruff voice made him whimper, his cock jumped at the rumble, leaking onto his belly, a Pavlovian response. His fingers searched clumsily for the pile of foil packets, sheets slipping off his back as he came up for air. He shuffled forward, yelped when Arthur moved him into position, his back to Arthur’s chest, body firm and warm and unyielding. “Hurry up,” he urged, bending his leg to his chest, feeling Arthur’s hard length teasing along the line of his entrance, circling and dipping in, teasing, just like his damnable fingers. “Hurry up, Arthur, Arthur, I’m dying.”

He couldn’t help his moan, couldn’t, when Arthur’s deep chuckle vibrated into his neck, when Arthur’s arm hefted up his thigh and his hand covered Merlin’s own, squeezing too hard, deliberate, making Merlin groan and squirm right onto Arthur’s cock, rocking down and then back up, endlessly, instinctively. Arthur was guiding Merlin’s hand, stroking counterpoint to his thrusts, never letting up, never losing rhythm.

It was the best wake up call Arthur had ever gotten.

*

Merlin was still sleeping by the time Arthur had to leave for work. Sometime during Arthur’s shower, Merlin had gravitated into the middle of the bed, face down inbetween the hollow of the pillows. His pale legs had tangled between the sheets, his arm flung out in the space where Arthur had been.

He felt strangely reluctant to leave.

But time waits for no man, and he put on yesterday’s clothes and knotted yesterday’s tie, out the door and down to the lobby, stopping at reception to pay for the hotel room until noon that day, hoping that Merlin would wake up before then. He wasn’t sure if that made him heartless, that he would make Merlin feel cheap or used, but he rationalised that they had been both looking for a good time, ended having a bloody great time, and anyway, Arthur had warned him. 

He walked out of the hotel briskly, hailing a cab and heading home for a change of clothes. In the backseat, he fiddled with his phone, guiltily thumbing through the pictures of Merlin he had taken, close ups of his sleeping face, of that cheeky mouth, his hip where Arthur had bit him and broken skin.

Only his age prevented him from getting hard again.

*

Halfway into his first meeting of the day, his Blackberry rumbled in his breast pocket. He held up a finger and the board member stopped talking immediately, but it turned out to be a message from an unknown number and subsequently dismissed. He put it back into his pocket and signalled for the meeting to resume.

He forgot about it through lunch, where Morgana had eyed him knowingly and mocked him, but he took it with the grace of one fantastically satisfied with the world and gave her nothing. Gwen came in with the finance reports after lunch and pat his shoulder, happy to see him relaxed and stress free for once. “I just worry sometimes,” she said bashfully. “I mean, what with the stockholders’ quarterly and the Moria acquisition in Hong Kong.”

He called for tea for both of them and reassured her that everything was fine, that her worry was better spent on her son and dolt of a husband than her boss.

“You’re hardly just my boss Arthur, your my friend first and foremost,” and then she left him with a gentle smile and the reports, adoring secretaries in her wake. He sometimes wondered what it might of been like, had he married Gwen and not backed off when Lancelot had entered the picture. He had decided it was for the best though, he would have probably driven her to drink, and he couldn’t imagine being a house husband like Lance, not while there were empires to run and marks to make.

He still needed to make arrangements for his trip to Hong Kong. He opened his Blackberry to schedule it in. He had gotten three more messages - one from Lance, one from Leon and another from the unknown number. He dealt with Lance and Leon’s quickly, confirmations about a drink that evening, before opening up the unknowns -- straightening in his chair in shock.

 

_“You left without waking me up! Devastated :(_

_Merlin“_

 

How had he...? 

Tapping the Blackberry on the desk, Arthur eased back into his chair, considering. He must’ve gotten into Arthur’s phone before that blowjob this morning. 

This could eventuate into a disaster situation if Merlin turned out to be a lunatic stalker. Granted, a _hot_ lunatic stalker who was unbelievably shameless in bed, but Arthur had been in enough deadlocks to be swayed by his dick at this age. If Merlin was angling for something, he’d better deal with it now rather than later. Decision reached, he tapped the next message -- and had to bring up a finger to smooth out his smile.

 

_“btw, you didn’t fuck me until I fell over. I call bullshit old man.”_

 

Perhaps he wasn’t too old to be swayed by his dick after all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“No suit today?” 

Merlin plonked down across from him, thin sheen of sweat covering him, as if he had come running. Which he definitely should have, seeing as he was a little over a quarter of an hour late.

Arthur was prepared to call him out on it, taking his time to fold his Financial Times and take a sip of his tea, but Merlin’s eyes were heated, trailing from the wet strands of his hair to his open shirt and back again, at a loss at which he would like to look at more.

“I had a suit. I changed out of it at the gym.” He said at last, smirking when Merlin’s gaze jerked back to face, unrepentant and slightly unfocused. 

“You look nice.” His tongue ran out over his bottom lip, distracting, just like the sock clad foot running along the inseam of his calf. “Wanna go somewhere?” 

“No.” The foot stopped, Merlin blinking at him uncomprehendingly. “I’m meeting people in a half hour.”

“Oh.” Merlin looked derailed. Arthur took a sip of his cooling tea. The younger man leaned back, surprisingly resuming his foot’s run under the table, face soft and contemplative. His eyes flicked around the room, stopping on the restrooms and then back to Arthur, wicked eyes and impish smile. “But that’s in half an hour right?”

That led to now, hips being held down by Arthur’s weight, constant pressure against his back, feeling Arthur’s peaked nipples moving along through the expensive cotton he hadn’t bothered to remove before turning Merlin around, crowding him against the hard surface of the door, before Merlin realised it had already begun and he had to hold on. Arthur’s fingers in his mouth muffled his cries, chest hitching and stuttering and clinging to the stall with his nails, standing on his toes for the best angle, cock slick with precome sliding between his stomach and the cubicle door, hips bruising up with the constant bang, bang, bang of Arthur’s thrusts, adding to the bite wound from the night before and hurting deliciously. Merlin’s fingers held himself open, Arthur’s cock rubbing between the V of his middle and forefinger, slow slide of pulsating friction, his ear between Arthur’s teeth, deep voice rumbling “keep quiet, keep quiet Merlin, don’t you want me to keep fucking you?” and how could he not make noise, not whimper and whine and keen, slicking up the fingers in his mouth, tongueing between the digits, sucking down Arthur’s sweat and desperately, desperately trying to make Arthur move faster, go harder, rub himself all over the goddamn door and spend himself on the cheap plastic, anything, anything...

“I’m gonna come,” he groaned around Arthur’s wet fingers, grinding and rubbing and head falling, cooling down on the cold surface of the door, sweet relief from the heat scorching his body. “I’m gonna come!” And then he was yanked around, delicious thrusts ripped cruelly away and leaving him bereft, mouthing “no, no, _no_ ” into Arthur’s shirt and shaking from a release that wasn’t granted, arm twisted uncomfortably, still clinging to the sides of the stall, his body in shock, like being doused in ice water, sudden, punishing, un _fucking_ fair. He was grappling for Arthur’s cock, trying to lead it back to where it should be, but Arthur caught his wrist easily and wrenched it behind his back, painful enough to offset Arthur mouthing his way down Merlin’s chest, wet lines circling breastbone, the lines of his belly, down until he engulfed Merlin’s cock in his sinfully hot mouth, choking off Merlin’s moan by tightening his grip on Merlin’s wrist. It hurt enough to stop him coming, yes, but it heightened his awareness of his body, of Arthur’s tongue and teeth running along the ridge, of his tip bumping up against the hard palate of Arthur’s mouth. He felt so much he could hardly find enough excess energy to breathe.

 

*

 

Then Arthur released his wrist, finally, finally, if he had the air he would be sobbing for relief, but instead he clutched at the wet strands of blond hair and hoisted a leg over Arthur’s shoulder, urging Arthur’s face closer, deeper, but instead Arthur gripped the base and denied him again, _again_ goddamnit, and Merlin had to curl his body up until his face was hidden in Arthur’s hair, begging “please, let me come, I want it so bad, let me--” and then three wet fingers, wet from his mouth, god, how had it only been that long ago, Merlin felt like he’d been on the brink for years, those thick, wet fingers teased inside him, quick and dirty and rubbing so good against his prostrate, over and over and driving him crazy, guttural noises he tried to smother in Arthur’s sweat slick hair, hand still holding his base tight, unbearably tight, almost as unbearable as the slick heat of Arthur’s fucking mouth, sucking and suckling and swallowing around him, and he was about to faint, about to explode and expire from the throbbing ache from inside and out, from fingers and mouth, and then sly fingers reached down to crook incessantly behind his ball sack, feather light touches that incinerated Merlin’s entire being, grip around the base loosened by the movement just enough that he really did explode, that yes, yes, _yes._

 

*

 

The most arousing part of it all, surprisingly, was the kissing after the fact. 

Oh yes, he had fucked Merlin almost unconscious in a bathroom stall, yes he did suck Merlin’s brains out of his cock and yes, Merlin most certainly would have fallen over if not for Arthur’s steady hold on his slick thighs. Those things obviously made a man of forty years think rather highly of his sexual prowess, especially when followed up by a “fucking fuck, do you do this for a living for something? Fuck,” in the afterglow, wrapped-around legs pulling him in tighter and face nuzzling appreciatively against his neck, his jaw. Lips were wet and messy, and tongue lazily licked his own taste out of Arthur’s mouth, hips rubbing helplessly against Arthur’s front like he honestly enjoyed it, like he honestly found it pleasurable to devour a mouth that had just gone down on his cock.

Kissing was something he’d forgotten was pleasurable in its own right. It didn’t have to be a prelude, or a tease, or even a way to show off just how much of a dexterity Merlin’s tongue actually possessed. The kiss was a thank you, a slick, messy, very appreciative thank you that Merlin bestowed generously, almost languorously.  

Arthur found that he was greedy for it. 

 

*

 

By the time Merlin was able to stand on his own two feet again, Arthur was more than a little late meeting Leon and Lance. In his state of dress, it was impossible to make as though he had been detained by work, which Leon jumped on at once.

“Arthur, mate, you look like you’ve just survived a shag with an Amazonion tribal warrior. What the fuck?” 

With all of Merlin’s pulling and tugging, and the ridiculously filthy sensation of his walls clenching around Arthur’s fingers, he had failed to notice that Merlin had bitten down under his ear, hard enough to bruise. He felt it precariously, but couldn’t work up enough embarrassment to really feel angry about it. Besides, he had taken a picture of his own bite mark on Merlin’s body, this was merely turnabout becoming fair play. He highly doubted Merlin’s knowledge of his covert photography, in any case.

“Had a run in at the gents,” he said simply, taking his seat. His neck ached.

“Fuck, are you serious?” Leon muttered. “I have to flash my gold amex if I want some some wild action, and here you are getting propositioned in bathrooms.” 

“If it makes you feel better, the propositioning took place outside the restroom.”

Leon scowled into his drink. “No. No it didn’t make me feel better. Thank you for trying you insufferable man.” 

“Always happy to offer my services.” Arthur said, stretching his neck out, rubbing his shoulders. 

Lancelot looked at him questioningly. “Looking a bit tense there Arthur.”

“Not as young as I used to be.” He shrugged one shoulder. 

Sadly, the endorphins were fading, and his body was complaining about the abuse he had made it work through. Hadn’t he promised himself not to play young men’s games? Yes he had. So what on earth was he playing at?

Flashes of Merlin squirming and bucking onto his cock, of his thigh on Arthur’s shoulder, holding himself open and begging Arthur to let him have it, of the beautiful curve of his body, limp with the aftershocks with pleasure, wrung out and trembling with the force of his orgasm.

Oh right. Who was going to fucking pass up something like Merlin. He wasn’t crazy.

The aches began to blur into the background, and he sipped at the neck of his beer, suddenly parched.

“So how’s Tommy anyway?” He enquired. Lancelot enthusiastically launched into the cute antics of his son while Leon scowled further into his drink, shooting Arthur a betrayed look. Lancelot often went on for hours about his son, something which Arthur usually found endearing. At the moment, he was counting on his friend’s verbosity to buy him some time to cool down to his normal operating temperatures. Two hours on, Lance had broken out the pictures and Leon had sent out four flutes of champagne to thankful, but uninterested patrons. A gaggle of women had converged around the table, under the pretense of cooing over Tommy’s admittedly adorable self, but surreptitiously, and sometimes blatantly, slipping their numbers onto Arthur’s person. He vaguely recognised a few of them from the arms of his associates, career maneaters, serial gold diggers and the like.

No less than five of his subordinates and various company rivals had dropped by to discuss business, and butter him up with a drink. He found it highly amusing that he’d be receiving more free drinks at forty than he had at half his age, but back then it was about being young and good looking, and free drinks now came with the implied challenge of not being able to get out of there on his own two feet. Sadly for them, Arthur had an almost incomparable tolerance.

Halfway through the seventh drink of the night, his Blackberry rumbled against the tabletop again, where he’d been receiving stock market updates all night. Lancelot had laughed, told him that was one thing he definitely didn’t miss about working. He smiled, saying nothing, while he thumbed through his inbox. The message he received was quite unexpected.

 

_Got bruises from banging into the door :’(_

 

Another one? So soon? What exactly was Merlin playing at? It had been less than four hours since their encounter in the restroom. He couldn’t imagine why Merlin would be contacting him now, why Merlin would be contacting him at all. If anything, he should have been the one who acted first, the one who couldn’t stay away from a young shag.

He was drunk enough to admit to himself that it wasn’t likely he would have stayed away. 

He sent back a message informing Merlin of the bruise left over from him biting into Arthur’s neck. He had barely enough time to rest it up on the tabletop before it rumbled again.

 

_Really? Hot ;) Show me yours if I show you mine?_

 

It took him a moment to make sense of what he was staring at. Directly following the message, Merlin had attached a picture of a pale torso, knee bent and obscuring his groin, a rather tasteful arrangement. It was presumably Merlin himself, the discolouration on his hip extremely prominent against the paleness of his skin. He thought it odd, how pale Merlin was. He hadn’t realised that Merlin lacked tanning lines, though such details of course weren’t foremost in his thoughts when Merlin had been stretched out naked beneath him. 

These trivial observations, however, were overshadowed by the hand between pale thighs, the angle of the rear itself, upturned, the corded muscle straining along a pale arm. There was a hint of a thumb on the soft, intimate curve of Merlin’s arse cheek, digging in. 

It looked wet.

He excused himself from the table, muttering about having to take a call. Leon and Lance waved him off while the women made noises of displeasure. It was all static to him. 

Leaving the din and lights behind him, Arthur ducked out into the foyer, leaning heavily against the wall. The breeze from the door cooled his skin as he pressed the call button and pressed the phone to his ear. It rang once, twice, and on the third ring an almost breathless voice picked up. “Hi old man.”

Arthur was not in the mood to play anymore games. “What are you doing?” he demanded. There was a rustling from the other end of the line accompanied by the squeak of bad springs. Overriding it all was Merlin, panting. 

“Right now? Thinking about when you nailed me to the toilet door. Did you come? I don’t think you did. I feel really...bad about that.” Merlin’s voice hitched, around his words were sounds, sounds that he’d heard last night, from that morning, from fucking four hours ago. They were barely audible, competing with Merlin’s soft moans and shortness of breath, but Arthur was listening for them -- wet, slippery sounds. Flesh meeting flesh, muffled slaps from skin hitting skin. 

“Are you touching yourself?” His mouth was dry, it came out roughened. Merlin’s was almost a purr.

“Mmm, yeah.” 

Shameless. He was absolutely shameless.

“Where are you?”

He was already in a taxi by the time the address came through.

 

*

 

“So I was thinking I should know more about the personality behind the cock. What do you think?”

Arthur barely heard the words. Once he was through the door, he had stopped paying attention to anything that wasn’t in between Merlin’s spread thighs. He had arranged his body perfectly, bed facing the door and back against the mattress, head visible between the part of his legs, propped up upon a mound of dark pillows. Sure enough, Merlin was leisurely fingering himself with one hand, the other supporting himself on a precarious elbow, obscene, fleshy noises making themselves known in tandem with Merlin’s uneven breathing. Arthur lost time between the door and the bed, already behind Merlin on the sheets, knees cradling his pale form and two fingers of his own joining Merlin’s before he became aware once more, unamused by Merlin trying to extract his own fingers away. “No, no, don’t do that, leave them, you were having such a good time.” He didn’t really know if Merlin could hear him, head thrown back against Arthur’s shoulder as Arthur mouthed the words into his neck. 

Their digits slipped around each other, Merlin’s a touch longer and Arthur’s a touch thicker. They couldn’t quite get their rhythm to match up, or rather, Merlin was insistent on not slowing down, not until Arthur used his free hand to guide Merlin’s into the proper cadence. Of course Merlin was unhappy about the speed and canted his hips, groaning when the change in angle forced their fingers deeper. Arthur marveled at how tightly Merlin clenched around them. “You should be loose,” he murmured. “Haven’t I fucked you enough for you to be loose?”

Merlin chose to respond by constricting the walls of his entrance even tighter, body jerking helplessly against Arthur’s chest when it became too much. “Not enough, clearly. Come on old man, give it to me.” 

Merlin might be horny, but he was sore, and overly sensitive, Arthur was sure of it. The noble thing to do was withdraw his fingers, to stop overwhelming Merlin’s senses. Arthur chose to go with getting Merlin as slick and as open as he could. 

Lube was conveniently within reach, and he chose not to remove his fingers from where they were entangled with two of Merlin’s own, squirting the cold substance straight onto Merlin’s belly instead, garnering a pained hiss from his licked red lips. It ran rivulets down between the V of Merlin’s body, cold moving sluggishly down their joined wrists. 

Arthur tossed the bottle away and quickly spread the contents on Merlin’s cock and balls, pumping until it had warmed and begun to be mix with the precome from Merlin’s slit. Then he abandoned it, gathering the excess from their occupied wrists and applying it generously around the swollen muscle clamping down relentlessly on Merlin and Arthur both. “Are you looking at yourself Merlin? Do you see what you’re doing?” Arthur rubbed around the place where Merlin’s body fused with their fingers, accepting and rejecting so easily and so filthily he would have come in his pants if he were sober enough to. 

“Don’t care,” Merlin panted. “Don’t care, please, please I’m so ready, I want your cock, come on.” He pushed himself back, rubbed a little desperately against the front of Arthur’s trousers, his whole body flushed red, exertion straining every muscle, every tendon. Then his eyes flew open, pupils blown so wide there was only the thinnest ring of blue, wide with lust and shock. Small, soft hurt noises found their way into Arthur’s ears. “Oh god, god you’re not hard? What--”

“Had too much to drink,” Arthur murmured, completely unconcerned. Merlin shook his head fitfully.

“B-but, oh, _oh_ \--” Merlin arched as Arthur pushed in a well lubed ring finger, his own fingers shaking and his arm screaming from strain. “But I wanted to, to--nngh, you didn’t before and I was supposed to--”

 Arthur rubbed his free hand on Merlin’s thigh, spreading lube and mess in a content manner. “Don’t worry Merlin, aren’t I taking such good care of you? I’ll make you come so good, make you come all over yourself. Yes, you are going to come all over yourself aren’t you? Look at you.”

Merlin was trying very, very hard to concentrate on something, anything, to stave off climax. He couldn’t, not when Arthur had been so good to him before, but the older man wasn’t playing fair at all! His lips over Merlin’s ear, licking the shell in hot, long strokes. His voice like velvet, commanding and coating his body in a blanket of want, of obeisance. His hands, god _his hands_ , hot and clever and stretching him open, and then a confident palm sliding so easily over his cock, up and down and around, firing off every nerve in his body. He wasn’t usually this selfish, he wasn’t-- 

“But you haven’t -- What about--” Merlin couldn’t remember the rest of what he wanted to say, he couldn’t think, not with the slide of Arthur’s hands on him, tugging tirelessly, the tunnel of his grip just right, lewd and self indulgent; his fingers entwined with Arthur’s, still moving inside himself, urgent and intense, stomach clenching and tensing and falling apart when Arthur circled his thumb around his rim, worked it in gently, firmly, opened him even further, fuller, so full and good and he _was_ , he was going to come fucking everywhere and it was going to be, oh, oh, _it was_ , it was so _fucking good._

*

The streetlights filtered through the half-open window, shedding enough light to see how tangled and creased the sheets were. It was also the real reason behind why Merlin’s skin was glowing, rather than the foolish, unformed thought that it had to be the force of the afterglow. 

It didnt stop Arthur from feeling a certain warmth as Merlin made a noise like a rather large cat, one that had eaten too much antelope and had to lie on the plains and wait for things to digest. He was completely limp, slumped against Arthur’s front and halfway to dozing. Arthur didn’t mind really, buzzed and relaxed from alcohol and Merlin’s skin.

He smoothed the tufts of Merlin’s dark hair, in disarray from their activities, before letting his hand fall back to Merlin’s thigh, belly still a complete mess and now, starting to congeal. He smoothed his hand over Merlin’s skin thoughtfully, garnering a pleased groan and a wet kiss to his chest. He was tempted to leave the mess, to let Merlin’s comfortable weight pin him to the bed, but it would be a bother when it dried up, and Arthur did have quite a bit of etiquette instilled in him. 

He got off the bed, amused but ignoring Merlin’s distressed whine, and found the en suite. Thankfully, there was a green hand towel hanging off the cabinet door beneath the sink. He put it on the counter and turned on the tap, washing his hands as he waited for water to warm up. With no small amusement, Arthur noted in the mirror that Merlin had given his first bite a friend, touching the second purpling bruise gingerly with soapy hands. 

Back on the bed, he returned to his former position, placing Merlin’s head back on his shoulder and enticingly warm body against his front. Gently, he wiped down Merlin’s belly, the first touch of warm wetness against pale skin startling his companion back into wakefulness. Merlin was silent, almost pensive, watching Arthur’s thorough, confident swipes with the towel against his front, cleaning away the traces of their coupling.

As Merlin slowly became more aware, Arthur realised that he was becoming more uncooperative, body turning away, thighs closing, making it harder for Arthur to pass through with the towel. “You don’t have to do that,” Merlin said, small, and maybe even bashful. The thought of it was laughable though. How could this shameless creature, who could send a picture of him pleasuring himself, even begin to be embarrassed about a simple clean up? 

Arthur pressed a smile into the side of Merlin’s head. “Least I could do.” 

His hands were resting on Merlin’s thighs, massaging absentmindedly, until Merlin began to acquiesce, turning his body back and letting his legs fall open slightly. Arthur finished his task quickly, then let his hands roam Merlin’s body, delighting in the smoothness, rubbing fondly over the stark bruise on his hip. It felt indulgent. 

Merlin yielded to his touch, body once again laxing into sleep. Carefully, Arthur moved Merlin’s blankets over them both, rearranging their bodies comfortably. It earned him a sleepy, whispered “thanks,” and more of those torturously slow, appreciative kisses. He was more than happy to accept, more than happy to press his mouth against Merlin’s until sleep overtook them both. 

*

He woke to a strange smell. 

Belatedly, though more importantly, he also noticed that Merlin was gone. He reached out to touch the cold, abandoned sheets. Merlin had been gone a long time. 

It’d been quite a while since Arthur even had to think of the phrase ‘walk of shame’, and that, alongside the two throbbing aches in his neck, made a part of him darkly amused at the novelty of these juvenescent rediscoveries. He’d long forgotten the feeling of making bad decisions under the influence, like waking up with regret and disappointment lingering like foul breath in his mouth. 

His brain chose that moment to remind him that he was old enough to know better.

Then Merlin walked through the open door wearing nothing but black briefs, Arthur’s v neck and a tiny frown. He was also somewhat paint splattered, even managing to get it in his hair, and Arthur was too confused and too charmed and too relieved to go over his list of why sleeping with someone half his age was A Bad Idea. 

Merlin climbed all over him unashamedly as soon as he realised he was awake. “Hello,” Merlin said between kisses. “Fancy a cup of tea?” 

“Yes,” Arthur returned the kisses with equal fervour. “Do you know there is a very odd smell coming from you?”

The very odd smell was turpentine.

Arthur had deduced it as such after being led to the kitchen nook after donning his slacks -- they managed one complete outfit between them -- and Merlin had looked a little chastened after Arthur frowned at the rather alarming blue and red smears of paint on the sleeves.

“Sorry, I was cold.” 

“It is three in the morning.” 

Merlin laughed, messing up his hair with one hand while he led the way to the kitchen. “When inspiration hits, it doesn’t like me to sleep.” 

Arthur didn’t quite get it, until they came through to the open living space. The ‘kitchen’ was to one side, separated from the the living space by what Arthur supposed was the dining table. It was spartan, a small flat screen hanging on the wall and some mismatched bean bags, presumably scattered across the floor under normal circumstances. They were shoved to one side to make room for the easel and canvases, still wet and fresh if the smell was any indication. 

“Are you a painter?” Arthur inquired, stopping in front of the easel curiously. 

“Um, not usually,” came Merlin’s muffled voice. A quick glance ascertained him to be turning on the kettle and searching for clean mugs. Arthur’s attention quickly returned to Merlin’s ‘not usual’ painting.

Arthur only knew enough about art to get by at social functions. He didn’t have some deep love for the Renaissance era like Morgana, but he had gone to enough gallery openings to recognise what he was looking at was abstract, contemporary, post modern, and all the rest of it. 

Swirls of colour. Layer upon layer upon layer. White and blue rained down in flowing lines, backlit by an orange, flickering fire. Pale splashes, like fireworks in the dark littered the canvas. Frankly, it looked a bit like a mess. 

But it felt like humidity. 

“Sorry, I’m out of milk. You alright with it black?” Arthur hardly registered the cup, blindly accepting it. Merlin slurped next to him. 

“What is it?” Arthur gestured to the splashes of colour with his mug. 

The slurping stopped only long enough to give him a succinct answer. “A feeling.”

A feeling? Arthur sipped at his tea. He turned his gaze to Merlin, expectantly. 

“I only use paints when I want to be, I dunno, a bit Impressionist,” Merlin laughed, mussing his hair up even more. There was paint underneath his fingernails. “It’s easier to create visceral texture and depth with a paintbrush I guess?”

Arthur didn’t comprehend that particularly well, but he plowed on nonetheless. “And what feeling are you conveying here?” 

Merlin blinked at him, and then smiled. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Arthur looked at him a while longer, but Merlin kept right on smiling. Conceding, he turned to the canvas again. “It feels like one of those hot days, where the rain evaporates as soon as it hits the pavement,” Arthur said, after a few more moments of consideration. He looked over at Merlin again, smiling wryly. “Though who would presume to know the mind of the artist?” 

Merlin beamed at him. “I’ll run with that.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, and moved onto the drying canvases leaning against the wall. There were four in all. These were swirls of reds and blues, dark and light and burnt. Maybe there were other colours, but Arthur couldn’t be sure, the longer he stared at them...

“They’re quite...provocative,” Arthur managed. Provocative was a mild way to put it. 

“I guess so,” Merlin said. His voice was low, intimate. “They come out after we fuck, so I’d say that feeling’s about right.”

They stood there, drinking tea and somehow getting closer until Merlin was pressed along his side, warm and solid. Merlin’s hand snaked out to take Arthur’s empty mug from his loose grip. “Back to bed?”

“Let’s.” Without taking his eyes off the red swirls, Arthur twined his fingers into Merlin’s paint splattered hair and pressed a kiss to the corner of Merlin’s mouth. 

*

Over the course of the weekend, more bruises were exchanged, more tea was made, and Merlin’s bed somehow managed to survive the ordeal, mostly through the pinch hitting of the dining table, the shower, and when Merlin was feeling particularly desperate, the floor next to any of those places.

“You are completely uninhibited,” Arthur chided a little breathlessly. “Also, aren’t you very, very sore right now?”

Merlin laughed, his whole body shaking with it, vibrating against Arthur’s front. He whispered a secret into Arthur’s ear. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting to get up on the table and present myself to you.”  

And Arthur was never too old to turn down generous gifts like that.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Early Monday morning, Arthur woke Merlin up before he left. An adorably bleary-eyed Merlin sleepily whined, kissing him goodbye. 

“I don’t even know that much about you,” he grumbled between kisses, messing up Arthur’s hair.  

Arthur chuckled. “What do you need to know?”

Merlin stopped kissing him, which Arthur was not sorry about in the least. “Hmm...maybe how old you are? What your last name is? Your favourite colour? I dunno, I thought I should know something else other than how hot you are and how hard you can make me come,” he said thoughtfully, smoothing out the blond hair he’d mussed up, idly licking his red lips. Arthur wanted to pin him to the mattress. Again.

Instead, he decided to do something even more imprudent.

“Why don’t I tell you those things over dinner?”

Imprudent though it might have been, Arthur couldn’t deny the kindling of something akin to elation when the sun came out with Merlin’s excited acceptance.

*

Arthur wasn’t quite sure what he expected when he proposed the dinner in question. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely correct. Of course he came in with some preconceived notions, but really, who wouldn’t. Surprise happens rarely to Arthur nowadays, because Arthur is a man who comes prepared. He comes into a situation knowing who, how and why, the most likely outcomes and, if they are not to his liking, then how he can use the who, how and why to twist the outcomes to something that is most beneficial to himself. 

It was likely he wouldn’t find Merlin half as enthralling when they weren’t engaged in sexual conduct. The reverse, that Merlin would find him wanting, was also quite likely. So was the fact that they might not have much to talk about, given their age difference. Or that Merlin would turn out to be vapid and insipid, or more attracted to Arthur's money than to Arthur himself.

That was the clincher, really. Arthur liked to know what exactly it was that he was getting himself into. How much of himself was going to be invested in this venture? What exactly did he want from Merlin? 

What exactly did Merlin want from him? 

He would investigate this fully before coming to any decisions.  

At dinner that night, Merlin quite clearly wanted his piece of untouched naan, biting at his lip and eying the forlorn piece of bread speculatively, rubbing his stomach as if to announce to the world that while he was quite happy and full, he had room for more and if Arthur was willing to give it, he’d be willing to take it and savour it. 

They had met just outside of Covent Garden and, after greeting him with an enthusiastic kiss, Merlin had hauled him towards his favourite curry shop -- bustling with hungry uni students, where they had to raise their voices to compete with the din. The crowd was younger than Arthur was used to, which was slightly uncomfortable, but Arthur did not show his unease and Merlin did not think anything was amiss. The waitress had greeted Merlin warmly and given Arthur curious looks throughout the night, but that was all the trouble -- if he could call it that -- that he had encountered. 

They had shared their curries -- butter chicken and a spicy beef vindaloo that left Merlin watery eyed but smiling. The food was slow to disappear, they spent too much time talking to eat properly, and Arthur was highly amused to find Merlin talked with hands as much as he did with his mouth, the journey of naan dipped in curry taking circuitous routes before finally being eaten.

Merlin devoured Arthur’s untouched naan with his eyes, and though Arthur was waiting for Merlin to ask for it, he finally caved a few minutes later and put it in front of his companion. “You could have just asked for it,” Arthur said, amused at the gusto Merlin displayed in tearing the dough to pieces. 

“I could have,” Merlin relented between bites, curry underneath his fingernails that he sucked at absentmindedly. Arthur lingered on the casual act, and while a distant part of him dearly hoped that Merlin had washed the paint from underneath them thoroughly before dinner, the rest of him crossed his legs and told his libido very firmly to desist. Merlin continued on, “but you were going to give it to me anyway. I can wait for it.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather presumptuous.”

Merlin beamed at him, licking at the corners of his mouth. “You just have to know what to look for is all. Dessert?”

He thought about pulling out his platinum card to pay for the meal instead of his normal everyday credit card just to gauge Merlin’s reaction, but before he could Merlin had already pulled out some crumpled, paint smeared pound notes and flagged down the waitress, cheerily informing Arthur that he could get the next one. 

That night didn’t end up with them having sex, only through Arthur’s sheer determination not to take heed of Merlin’s very unsubtle hints to accompany him home. He indulged in a kiss that tasted like after dinner mints, not even with tongue -- though the minx had let his mouth part invitingly, and lingered until the last moment before Arthur had sent a visibly confused, but dazed Merlin off in a taxi. His phone vibrated not even five minutes after the taxi had pulled away from the curb. 

 

_40 Pendragon (LOL) Red!_

_Youre hot for 40. I’d tap that. Oh wait. ;)_

 

It took him a few moments to decipher the message, and he tapped out his reply with a smile before hailing his own taxi and heading back to his Westminster flat. 

 

_22, Emrys, dependent upon how you feel at the time._

_Still too old for you_

 

The audacious thing sent a picture of himself pouting, holding up a palm that read _don’t be ageist_ in his neat block lettering.

He reached the conclusion that so far, he rather liked spending time with Merlin when there wasn’t nudity involved, and though he hadn’t figured out exactly what it was that the younger man wanted, he found he was willing to invest some more of his time into the venture.

*

Their second dinner was just over a week later. Arthur hadn’t the luxury of free time leading up to the stockholder’s quarterly and schmoozing that followed, though he’d always had Merlin at the back of his mind, where all his other peaceful and relaxing thoughts resided.

It helped that not a day went by without Merlin sending him a photo, or a ludicrous message. The one sent mid week was his favourite: _Have you succumbed to old age? Are you dead? RIP Arthur Cockdragon :(_  

He chastised Merlin very thoroughly for it when they met, though Arthur’s heart wasn’t in it really, and Merlin had spent the whole lecture staring rather fixedly at his mouth. He’d taken Merlin to the Ritz Carlton, and bemusedly watched as Merlin stared at the menu in confusion.

“Why doesn’t the food have prices?” 

Nearby tables choked on their wine a little, stunned and appalled, though Merlin took absolutely no notice. Arthur hid his smile behind his own glass had assured Merlin he was ‘getting this round’, which Merlin confusedly agreed was true. Merlin seemed rather confused at the venue that Arthur had chosen at first, had bitten his lip and looked at Arthur as if wanting to protest, but all thoughts of such complaints had disappeared completely from his face as soon as Arthur showed him the view. 

Merlin spent much of the evening gazing into the scenery of London lit up at light, at the restaurant centrepieces and the wait staff’s uniforms, excitedly speaking of colours and shapes. When Arthur had come back to the table after using the restroom, he was unsurprised to see sketched out imprints on Merlin’s napkins, though Merlin pushed them aside happily as soon as he’d noticed Arthur’s return. Once again they were slow to finish off their meals, and once again Arthur declined Merlin’s advances, though he didn’t leave until Merlin was safely bundled into a taxi and driven away, and not before he had indulged in Merlin’s mouth, though not until the point where leaving Merlin bereft would be a great cruelty to them both.

“Come home with me,” Merlin had groaned against his lips. “Come and fuck me, please?”  

Arthur very determinedly did not acquiesce, and ignored Merlin’s suddenly depressed countenance. When Merlin stepped away, downcast and horribly confused, Arthur opened the door to the taxi, followed the curve of Merlin’s cheek with his palm and promised to call.

* 

The third dinner was... 

Well. 

Revealing, Arthur supposed.

Merlin insisted on steaks, and though Arthur proffered the names of several restaurants whose steaks melted in the mouth, Merlin muttered that restaurants that Arthur liked had seats opposite one another, and Merlin was in no mood for them.  

“I think you’ll find all dining establishments adhere to those seating arrangements,” Arthur chuckled. 

“Shows what you know,” Merlin said, and proved Arthur incorrect by eventually crowding Arthur into the booth of a crowded, noisy pub, pressing against Arthur’s side very pointedly.

“It’s not fancy like the Ritz,” Merlin murmured, lips caressing the shell of Arthur’s ear, palm rubbing slowly back and forth on Arthur’s thigh. “But at least this way I’ll be able to touch you all night, and when you talk to me,” Merlin’s voice was low, husky, an edge of need already present. “I really hope that you’ll have to say it right into my ear. That rich,” the hand on Arthur’s thigh slid to the inside of his leg, “cultivated,” lightly running a hand over the zip of his trousers, “sexy voice of yours that drives me mad.” 

Arthur hadn’t known he could get an erection that quickly. He turned to face Merlin, not sure if he wanted to end the night early and get a taxi right away, or go with the easier route of taking Merlin into a bathroom stall and make Merlin a mess.

The choice, however, was taken out of Arthur’s hands as Merlin suddenly detached himself, getting out of the booth and declaring that he was very hungry and would order them both steaks and a pint at the bar. Arthur was left both stunned, and extremely impressed. He supposed he should have expected something like that, after not once, but twice teasing Merlin to such an extent. He hadn’t known Merlin was capable of it, and instead of feeling wary about it as he should have, he was overwhelmingly approving of the whole show. 

This feeling of pleasure lasted up until a man grabbed Merlin by the arm and embraced him. Arthur was hardly even aware he had risen from his seat and made his way over, though no one else paid Merlin and his assailant any mind. Merlin had stepped out of the man’s reach, face friendly but distant. Arthur didn’t know what they were speaking of, but from the way their bodies moved, it was abundantly clear that the two had slept with each other, and Arthur was surprised by how much anger roiled underneath his skin at the thought. 

It almost doubled as he realised Merlin was rubbing his pale arm, red marks from where the man had grabbed him not fading quickly enough. 

“...haven’t seen you for a while. Replaced me with a better fuck, have you?” His tone was casual, almost bored, though his body was clearly showing his interest in Merlin’s answer. He was Merlin’s age, Arthur supposed, taller, broad and built. Arthur was half curious, half resigned. He didn’t at all expect for Merlin to laugh and nod. 

“Sure have! You’ll have to do without me Myror,” then he noticed Arthur out of the corner of his eye and immediately paled, though he made his way over and almost hesitantly slid a hand into Arthur’s. Arthur did one better and slipped an arm around Merlin’s waist, pulling him in close. 

Merlin flushed becomingly, pleased. “Arthur, this is Myror, my, uh...” Merlin trailed off, twisting his lips as he thought of what to say. “Well, I guess friend with previous benefits? Um, not for a while now,” he assured Arthur hurriedly.

“Shit decision Merlin,” Myror scoffed. “Clearly you’re gagging for it. When you realise how very unsatisfied you are with Grandpa,” he nodded at Arthur pointedly. Arthur raised a brow, unimpressed. “You have my number.” 

“No, I deleted it.” Merlin smiled at Myror genially. “Thanks anyway.” 

Dismissing Myror’s presence entirely, he turned to Arthur, eyes hopeful. “I am really, really horny though. Please tell me you are going to fuck me tonight, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but I promise you, I have been very good.” 

Later, they had a laugh at Myror’s incredibly murderous expression, Merlin stealing the chips off of Arthur’s plate. “I never even liked him,” Merlin said cheerily. “He was fine in bed, but we didn’t ever have much to say to each other. Still don’t.” Merlin’s head was resting on Arthur’s shoulder. “I mean, it didn’t mean anything and... I regret it now. Because I like you and I didn’t want you to know that about me.” The last bit was quiet, as though Merlin almost didn’t want Arthur to hear. 

Arthur didn’t think any less of Merlin.

Though his irritation that Myror had existed in conjunction with Merlin at any point failed to surprise him.  

*

Merlin lasted three chaste dinners before claiming slight illness on the fourth, suggesting that Arthur come round for a quiet night in with the telly. Arthur was not at all surprised upon arriving at Merlin's door, take out in hand, to be yanked inside, divested of his trousers and, for lack of a better term, ravaged.

"Mmm," Merlin purred, pleased to his core as he lifted himself up and down on Arthur's cock, eyes closed blissfully. Finally, finally, after all this time of being with Arthur, but not being _with_ Arthur, he was finally inside Merlin again, after all that cock teasing and awful waiting and waiting that Merlin really didn’t know what was about at all, but it didn’t matter, because Merlin had finally gotten Arthur back to his place, and Arthur couldn’t say no to him anymore, Merlin wouldn’t let him say no. 

Arthur could only look on bemusedly in between his own bouts of overwhelming pleasure, back flat on the hardwood floor, shirt ridden up and knees bent to provide support for Merlin's back as the man shamelessly moved for his own gratification above him, erection leaking onto Arthur's stomach. Arthur snapped his hips up to meet Merlin's downward thrust, just to see the hiccup in Merlin's rhythm, the way his red mouth parted in a surprised cry, his body shuddering and clamping down around Arthur's length until it was almost painful. Merlin opened his eyes and frowned at Arthur, twisting down to bite Arthur's nipple hard in punishment. Arthur laughed and stilled his hips, letting Merlin regain his rhythm again, watching him ride Arthur as he pleased. When Merlin got back to his previous pace, eyes fluttering shut and body a lithe, curved line, head tipped back and exposing his long, long neck, Arthur snapped his hips up again, harder than the last time, and Merlin keened unhappily, his body clamping down around Arthur tight, so tight and good Arthur had to grip his hands on Merlin’s hips, to pull him down so Arthur could thrust up into Merlin again and again.

Merlin couldn't bear it, could barely keep himself upright, thighs quivering with strain as his hands came out to steady himself on Arthur's chest, voice a mess of moans and half formed words, "No-- Wai-- I'll come-- 'm gonna--" and then it didn't matter, because Arthur had forced Merlin backwards, forced him onto his back and his legs were wrapped around Arthur's waist, hips off the floor, his hands somehow underneath Arthur's shirt and clawing at Arthur's back, cock rubbing slickly on Arthur's belly. Arthur's mouth in his neck and the smell of Arthur all around him, of Arthur inside of him, holding him down and holding him open, Arthur's voice velvety smooth, rough at the edges and telling him, "go on Merlin, you want to don't you? You love it, you love being fucked by me--" which Merlin did, he really did, he moaned it into Arthur's mouth how much he liked it, how much he couldn't stand seeing Arthur, being close, so close and waiting, impatiently waiting for the man to touch him, take him, bend him over, _anything_ , only to be sent away, alone, couldn't stand it at all, clawed his displeasure at this unfair treatment into Arthur's back and coming hard all over Arthur's belly, drenched himself in satisfaction when Arthur tensed up and bit down on his neck, the sting of pain forcing the peaks of his nipples to throb, his cock to give up the last droplets of come he still had left. 

He felt Arthur move off of him after the older man caught his breath, their bodies parting slickly, glistening under the light. Without Arthur's body covering him, the chill in the air made Merlin shiver, and he grumbled, curling in on himself and hoping Arthur would lie down beside him, even though he knew he really should get up off the floor. As he had done ever since the first time they had had sex in Merlin's flat, Arthur came back shortly after with a warm washcloth and sat behind him, propping Merlin against his front and cleaning the mess off Merlin's belly and between his thighs. He thought it was so weird at first, weirdly more intimate than Arthur holding him down and coming inside him, had never had someone do that for him before, not so thoroughly, and carefully; an act that was somehow pleasurable in itself and not just something done to achieve cleanliness. 

The wet cloth felt good on his skin, the precise motion of Arthur's toweling hypnotic. He let it soothe him, entice with its warmth and mouthed along Arthur's jaw to let him know how much he appreciated it, humming contentedly when Arthur turned to kiss him after he was done, languid and thorough. He liked kissing Arthur a lot. 

He didn’t know if it was because he smelt and tasted nice, and he liked being able to wrap himself around those sensations whenever he could, would be woken by them at night and have to pad his way into the living room and paint it out of himself, somehow try to keep it on the canvas but it was so lacking, even when he thought he’d got the warmth of it just right, the heat, the languid strokes with his brush, he’d kiss Arthur again and discover that he was still wrong, needed more depth and looser strokes-- 

"I need to leave soon," Arthur murmured against Merlin's lips, soft and tinged with regret. 

"What?!" came Merlin's disgruntled protest, the corners of his mouth downturned. "You're really just going to leave? After we just--" 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and cut him off. "I came to see a supposedly sick man on death's doorstep. How was I to know this was a booty call?"  

Merlin looked away from him guiltily. Arthur thought of the wasted take out, no doubt a mess of rice and lemon chicken outside the door instead of inside his stomach, but really, he couldn't muster up any strength to be unhappy about the prospect of returning to work hungry, not with all the endorphins raging in his system. As if in tune with his thoughts, Merlin hefted a sigh, grumbling, "we didn't even get to eat together." He looked at Arthur, biting his lip. "Sorry. I guess it's important." 

“All the department heads have to be there,” he explained vaguely. Merlin made a soft noise to indicate he was listening, but Arthur was fairly certain Merlin didn’t care much about what he did. To add to this point, he wasn’t sure that Merlin even knew where he worked. He wasn’t sure how it didn’t come up, but he never offered the information and Merlin never asked, content to laugh at Arthur’s work stories without context, about Morgana scaring the secretaries and Gwen’s office being flooded with love letters every Valentine’s, of people coming into Arthur’s office and treating him like a therapist because sometimes he slept at the office and had a bought a chair for that purpose, unaware that it resembled the ones used by shrinks to put their patients at ease. 

He looked at Merlin’s hands trailing over his open shirt, blue eyes taking stock of the state of Arthur's clothes. "I've kind of made a mess of you," Merlin murmured, playing with his loosened silk tie.

Indeed he had. The two of them made quite a picture at any rate -- Arthur's shirt had the first three top buttons popped off thanks to Merlin's haste, creased and stained, as was his tie. His trousers had survived mostly intact, being shucked off him as soon as his foot was in the door, but his hair was a complete mess and was utterly untameable. Merlin was naked between Arthur's bare legs, stretched out and completely unconcerned, and neither of them were wearing pants which was honestly a bit ridiculous because Merlin’s flat didn’t have adequate heating. 

"Well," Merlin said, leaning back to snuggle into Arthur's chest, fingers tracing the vein on the underside of Arthur's softened length. "Do you have enough time for round two?"

Arthur arrived at the office a full twenty minutes after the appointed time. Though he had foreseen Merlin's actions and brought an extra suit in the car, Gwen and Morgana took one look at his hair and known exactly what had happened to him. Morgana, the witch, started to clap, which confused the Moria delegates on satellite immensely. 

* 

This wasn’t exactly where Arthur thought things would lead to when he’d pulled the younger man on the subway. 

He wasn’t exactly thinking it would lead to dinner two or three times a week -- sex before, during, after, even a combination of the three applicable. Sometimes there wasn’t any sex to speak of though, sometimes it was just good food and good company. Sometimes it was falling asleep after a long day and waking up to the smell of turpentine as often as his nose cold against Merlin’s bare back, or warm in Merlin's soft hair. Sometimes it was waking to confusion, of reaching out and not sensing Merlin anywhere, of opening his eyes and realising he had gone back to his own flat and fallen asleep in his own bed, and woke up forgetting what morning in solitude felt like. 

*

_What exactly did Merlin want from him?_

As proved by Arthur’s test, Merlin did not use Arthur’s physical and sexual attraction to him to extract favours or to use as leverage. He did not try to ingratiate himself to Arthur by showing up at his place of work or by altering his behaviour to appeal to Arthur in any way. He did not attempt to coax any money or goods from Arthur. He did not ask to be taken to any particularly glamorous or exclusive places around London. He did not seem to mind that they were always at Merlin’s and never at Arthur’s, that he had not even seen where Arthur lived. He did not seem to be aware of Arthur’s status with Albion Enterprises Ltd., nor the particulars of his work, which also ruled out company espionage and corporate blackmail. 

What Merlin did seem to want, was Arthur to spend time with him, have sex with him, reply to his lewd text messages, and wake him up before he left in the morning.  

It wasn’t concrete proof by any means that Merlin would not grow to use Arthur in some way in time, yet Arthur was not convinced that he would, simply because he believed Merlin to be genuine and guileless. Arthur believed that he would not be making a mistake in cultivating a deeper relationship with Merlin.

The other part of his brain that was dominated by emotion and not reason, told him that his ‘test’ was a futile exercise, that he had already reached his conclusion that morning he had woken Merlin before he left, sleep warm and pliant, and asked him to dinner. 

At that point, he had already invested himself for the long haul. 

“Are you alright there old man?” Merlin asked, coming into the kitchen nook for some tea. 

He had some dried paint in his hair and he’d gotten paint all over the sleeves of Arthur’s navy suit jacket. The sun was streaming weakly through the window, only just providing enough light for Arthur to make out Merlin’s cheeks flushed from sleep. Merlin yawned, cradling his mug and snuggling into Arthur’s side. “You look like you’re thinking really hard.”

Arthur slipped a hand around his waist and sighed. “I was thinking about how upset my dry cleaner gets when I present him with paint splattered clothes. Please be a little more careful sweetheart.”  

“Who knew you were so attached to your clothes,” Merlin grumbled into his tea. Then the endearment filtered through his sleep addled consciousness and he stilled, tea spilling over the lip of the mug, forgotten. His blue eyes were wide awake, his mouth a perfectly shaped “oh”, and Arthur fought down the blush that threatened to appear on his own face at Merlin’s quiet surprise and burgeoning pleasure. 

“I need to paint something now,” he announced, gaze drifting away from Arthur’s own, absently picking his way back over to his easel, tea fated to grow cold and be forgotten on the side table. “Wake me when you leave!”

When Arthur kissed him goodbye, Merlin paused for only a few seconds to respond to it. Fresh paint covered the cuffs of the navy suit jacket, pale colours that filtered through on the canvas, like a soft glow of the early morning. 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

With the Moria acquisition only two weeks away, Arthur did not have time for procrastination at work. That was why he was thumbing through his collection of Merlin photos during his lunch break-- arguably his own time. He lingered over one of Merlin yawning, hip cocked, thumb casually drawing down his jeans, baring his hip. It was marked with a fading bruise, sucked into being by Arthur’s mouth, faint background colours to the darker discolouration of small purple circles that were almost perfect fits for the pads of Arthur’s fingers.

Arthur wasn’t sure if Merlin knew about his covert photography. On the one hand, Merlin had broken into his phone before, so it wasn’t unlikely. On the other hand, if Merlin did know about them, Arthur expected Merlin to add some photos himself, maybe send Arthur a text message along the lines of _I know... and approve_ ♥ . He would have felt guilty about having a collection at all, but Merlin sent him enough badly lit photos of his own volition that made Arthur certain Merlin wouldn’t much care.

He was so engrossed with the pictures that he didn’t register Morgana approaching his office until just before she strode in, stilettos muted by the plush carpet. He locked his Blackberry and slid up an eyebrow as she stopped before his desk. “Morgana. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

His step-sister dropped into the chair in front of his mahogany desk, crossing her legs comfortably and smoothing down the line of her skirt. “I should think to be asking you that Arthur. Why, you’re positively glowing these days.”

He picked up his fountain pen and signed the document before him, closing the file and slipping off his reading glasses to consider her. “Is there something I should know about, or are you just just after some company? Do you have some crisis you need to take mental health days for?”

She smirked at him. “Not me this time. The secretary pool might, when the shock of you being taken overwhelms them. Poor Mordred is crying his heart out in my office.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and slipped his reading glasses back on, going back to his files. “I very much doubt that.” Morgana's gloomy but efficient secretary was hardly the crying sort. 

“All right then, he’s brooding very efficiently at his desk while I pester you for details,” Morgana relented. "So come on then, for the mental heath the secretary pool." 

"Well," he leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. Morgana imperceptibly shifted to face him front on. She really _was_ curious.  

He opened his mouth, ready to tell her everything about Merlin. How vibrant he was, how unrestrained, how he thought things might be serious, and that he wanted to introduce them soon. He wanted all of his friends to meet Merlin, he realised, mildly startled. He was sure after they got over Merlin’s age, they’d take to him just as much as Arthur had. He ran his finger over his phone mindlessly just at the thought.

Then he remembered the delirious chaos Hong Kong was perpetuating, the bags under Morgana’s eyes from stress, her short temper and general over protectiveness, her impulsiveness that was a legacy from his father. 

Alvarr.

“If we do have a problem with the secretary pool, you need to see Gwen about it," he said finally, signing off yet another itinerary update. 

Morgana leaned back in her seat, positively glowering at him. "Arthur, you know I'm not referring to HR." 

"My private life is not open for discussion during work hours."

“So there is someone!”  

Not discussing it Morgana.” 

She pouted. "I will sic Gwen on you, I'm not above that." 

Which was playing unbelievably dirty, even for Morgana. Still, he remained silent. He would take the chance that Gwen would probably choose not to harass him over it, even if Morgana tried to recruit her.  

She drummed her fingernails on his desk, looking at him hard a moment longer before giving up, shrugging her shoulders elegantly and standing. "Well, whoever they are, send them a bottle of red on me. They've been a godsend for your temper."

Aside from the vivid images that conjured -- Merlin wouldn’t know _how_ to appreciate a good red wine unless he were licking it off of Arthur’s skin -- Arthur bit back his truly inappropriate response that it really _was_ rather hard to maintain his temper when it was regularly sucked out through his cock. 

His step-sister stood before him a moment longer, expression softening from good natured ribbing to quiet gravity. “You will introduce me soon though, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” Arthur replied immediately. “but you’ve got enough on your plate with Moria already. Let’s leave it until we come back from Hong Kong.” 

“It’s hardly back breaking work Arthur, I can handle a simple social dinner.” Arthur didn’t believe that for a minute. He hardly had time to think about anything except the takeover, and Morgana was in charge of personal relations. Between the two of them, they were basically on call twenty-four seven. Morgana continued, “But fine. First thing after Hong Kong. I mean, if they haven’t dumped you after being abandoned for two weeks.” She smirked, knocking on his desk as she made the declaration, and left.  

Arthur blinked after her, his work life and his private life locking together in his mind with a jarring click.

He had mentioned to Merlin that he was leaving in two weeks, hadn’t he? 

*

Merlin wasn’t picking up his phone. 

This wasn’t an unnatural occurrence. Since Arthur had known him, the range of reasons why Merlin wouldn’t have his phone at hand -- an action that was practically sacrilegious in Arthur’s line of work -- varied from simply forgetting to charge his battery, to being too involved in his paints to notice anything else. He left Merlin a text message anyway, to let him know Arthur was coming over. If he wasn’t there, Arthur would just have to wait until Merlin got back to him.

There were signs of life coming from Merlin’s flat, so fortunately it would not be a wasted trip. He rang the doorbell and waited, hearing heavy footfalls approaching from inside. The door opened a moment later.

Arthur stared. Then, “you’re not Merlin.”

“Yeah, neither are you,” a man with a ruddy appearance replied. He was shorter than Arthur and about Merlin’s age. He looked very familiar, and Arthur realised Merlin had a picture of this man and himself when they were younger in an ornate frame in his bedroom. 

“Is that Merlin dear?” came a woman’s voice from inside. 

“Nah Hunith, it’s some bloke,” the man called back. He turned to face Arthur again, sheepish. “Sorry, don’t mean to be rude. Merlin’s out at the moment, but he’s due back any minute.” His eyes darted up and down Arthur’s body, taking in his suit and briefcase. He was visibly confused, but smiled politely. “Are you his landlord?” 

“Oh, no,” Arthur replied. “My name’s Arthur, I’m--”

The man cut him off, shocked. “What?! _You’re_ Arthur?” He looked Arthur up and down again, face growing even more confused. “Are you fucking with me?” 

A woman around his own age appeared in the doorway. “Language Will! And for goodness’ sake, let the poor man in.” She smiled at him genially, the same smile Merlin often directed at him. Inherited then, Arthur thought offhandedly. It was quite ironic on the day he decided to postpone introducing Merlin to his own family that he should meet Merlin's mother. 

When Will wasn’t busy looking at Arthur in complete shock and disbelief, he was stopping Hunith from snooping around Merlin’s belongings.

“I’m just cleaning up dear,” Hunith insisted.

Will wheeled her away and sat her at the table next to Arthur. “I’m sure Merlin has put his mail in two piles for a reason Hunith.” He made sure she stayed put and and made for the kettle, shooting Arthur another confused, but considering look. 

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t you agree Arthur?” she asked Arthur, fiddling with Merlin’s table cloth. Arthur shrugged and sipped his tea, mind racing. He was fairly sure Merlin would mind people going through his mail, but this was his mother and perhaps going through his mail was a normal motherly thing?  

“It’s nice to know Merlin has some adults like you and me looking in on him though, puts my mind at ease,” she said cheerily, smoothing out the fabric under her hands. He made a noise of agreement, smiling vaguely. She didn’t know who he was. Not that Arthur could judge really, especially since Arthur hadn’t told Morgana a thing about Merlin except for the fact that he existed, in a peripheral way.

He told himself the slight grimace on his face was simply from drinking the tea while it was still too hot.

Will settled two cups down onto the table and joined them. Hunith had no reaction when Arthur had introduced himself earlier. Will, on the other hand, had mouthed “no fucking way,” and clutched at his head, as if in pain. A silence descended onto the nook as the three of them sipped at their drinks. 

“So then,” Hunith said, still smiling. “How do you know my Merlin?” 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Well, I--”

“He’s doing very well for himself isn’t he?” Hunith cut in. Arthur let her, relieved. Will seemed to sag into his tea. “He’s very independent, always liked to do things by himself. ‘Don’t worry Mum, I’m fine,” he’d say, and he was just a little slip of a thing really, barely past my knee! I remember when he used to depend on me, you know, oh -- I’m his mother by the way,” Hunith said, smiling at him. Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when she barreled on. “He was such a darling boy too, but you wouldn’t think it to look at him now would you? He’s so-- well, when they fly the coup--” 

_The what?_ Arthur sipped his tea some more. Across from him, Will kept checking his phone with a hopeful look on his face. 

“-- they never want to tell you anything you know, why this is the first time I’ve even seen his flat--" 

“He’s invited you loads of times,” Will mumbled. Hunith ignored him. 

“--and that’s not right at all is it? Why, when I heard William was going to visit I simply had to come along, remind my boy what his mother’s face looks like in case he forgets,” she laughed. And without needing anymore input from either Arthur or Will, she went on. And on. Until she got up from the table, talking about finding her purse and showing Arthur pictures of their family. 

“Hunith--” Will said, almost like a warning.

“Won’t be a minute dear...” Hunith’s voice trailed off as she disappeared into Merlin’s bedroom. Arthur sincerely hoped Merlin had cleaned up since yesterday morning. 

Will was half on his feet, torn between Hunith and Arthur, still confused and slightly more accusatory. He sat down, considering Arthur still. 

“Is there something on my face?” Arthur asked politely. 

Will looked at him blankly. “Uh, no,” he said. Then he went back to staring at Arthur’s face, as he had been for the past ten minutes Hunith had spent talking at them. 

“Is there a problem William?” Arthur asked, still polite but hardening. If he recalled correctly, Will was Merlin’s oldest and best friend. The Will of Merlin’s stories was, frankly, idiotic, but in the premise of all of Merlin’s stories that contained Will, he seemed to mean well. The Will in front of him was suspicious at best though. Perhaps Merlin had told his best friend about Arthur. He was probably judging him and finding him lacking.

Which is why Arthur was caught so off guard. 

“Sorry man, I don’t have a problem with you. I’m just...” he trailed off, staring at Arthur intently. “You’re kind of really normal.” 

“...What?”

“I mean,” Will went on hurriedly, confusion plain on his face. “Most of Merlin’s fucks, er, sorry,” he covered his mouth and cringed, as though Arthur had just reprimanded him. Arthur barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Most of the people Merlin sees are like, marines or hippies or mafioso or--- and you’re...really fucking normal it’s freaking me out a little. Wait, ” he looked at Arthur’s shirt and tie warily. “You don’t have like, a bazillion tattoos under there do you? Or like secretly MI6?” 

“...What?” Arthur knew he had said it before, but he just couldn’t think of anything else to say. Mafioso? Suddenly Myror seemed a lot more sinister. 

Will snapped his fingers. “Maybe I’ve got the wrong guy. Maybe it’s some weirdo renaissance fair medieval knight jouster guy named Arthur he’s seeing right now and you just coincidentally have the same name. Yeah, that would make so much more sense, you are so not his type...”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, only for a second. “What, old?”

Will’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?! But you’re like, super normal! Like nine to five normal!”

Before Arthur could tell Will that he, in fact, was a multi-millionaire soon to be billionaire and while he could liken himself to the average joe he was certainly not, keys were jangling in the lock and Merlin’s muffled voice was filtering through the door. 

“Will, are you here yet? I forgot to charge my phone and the post office was mad busy, I was there for-- Arthur!” 

Merlin dropped his things as soon as he saw him, bounding to his side and hugging him hard, as though they hadn’t just seen each other yesterday morning. His lips were soft on Arthur’s, and he could feel Merlin’s smile through the brief contact. “Who let you in?” he murmured happily. 

“I did,” Will said from across the table. “Good to see you too, by the way.”

Merlin beamed at him. “I knew we were best mates for a reason! You two have met?” He was content to sit himself in Arthur’s lap, taking Arthur’s arms and pulling them around his waist. “Where’s Viv?” 

“She couldn’t make it-- Merlin, Hunith’s here.”

Merlin stilled. He let his hands fall from Arthur’s and he slid off of his lap. 

“There’s nothing to worry about okay, I’ve been keeping an eye on her the whole time,” Will rushed out. “I’m sorry man, Viv didn’t know about Hunith and she told her I was coming down--”

“Where is she?” Merlin’s voice was quiet, the words almost scrapped out. His whole body was trembling. Arthur had never seen Merlin in such a mood before. 

Something dropped onto the ground behind them. Everyone turned to see Hunith, face white. Her purse was on the floor, contents scattered -- was that Arthur’s watch he had left on Merlin’s bedside table? 

“Merlin.” Hunith’s voice was even, but her face was pinched. She was staring at Arthur’s arms around Merlin’s waist. He didn’t move them. “What’s going on?”  

“What were you doing in my room?” Merlin asked, hot, angry. 

 “What was I doing? What are you doing!” she screamed, outraged. “That man is Balinor’s age!”

“Don’t scream in my kitchen,” Merlin said, voice flat. He moved in front of Arthur, as if protecting Arthur from Hunith’s startling fury. “Not that it’s _any_ of your business, but my boyfriend is two years younger than Balinor.”

“ _Boyfriend?”_ Hunith’s face had flushed with rage. She shot Arthur an acidic glare, storming towards them. “You animal, how dare you touch my son! You--fucking scum!”

“Hey!” Merlin shouted, at the same time as Will said, “Hunith, you’re overreacting don’t you think?” 

She looked betrayed, going back and forth between Merlin and Will’s faces, as if they were people she didn’t recognise. “It’s disgusting! Are you stupid? The only reason someone twice your age would be with you is to have you as a bloody bed warmer!”

Merlin stepped back, pale and breathing hard. Will was arguing with Hunith to little effect, their voices growing louder and Hunith’s face getting redder and redder as the seconds passed. Through her tirade, Arthur listened and watched, removed, growing slightly annoyed, and finally when Merlin brought a hand up to head and clutched at his hair, he stepped in.  

“That’s enough.” Will started at Arthur’s hand on his shoulder, and Hunith looked like she would slap him at any moment. “Hunith, I’m sorry you feel strongly about this, but you need to calm down -- this is Merlin’s home and I doubt he appreciates your shouting. We’re both consenting adults, no one is taking advantage of anybody and you don’t know me nor I you, so I would ask you to stop accusing me of things I would never do.”

There was a slight pause. Will’s jaw was dropped, and he was giving Arthur a very enthusiastic thumbs up. Hunith snorted.

“Excuse me?” she sneered, not lowering her voice at all. “Am I hearing you correctly? How could this,” she waved a hand between him and Merlin, whose face warred between hurt and blankness, “be anything _but_ you taking advantage of my son? Despicable.”

Athur didn’t care to respond. He’d already said his piece. Merlin shifted behind him. 

“Well he isn’t,” Merlin said, voice soft. “And you’re the one being despicable. You don’t care who I date. You’re making a big deal about this because you think I’m stupid enough to fall for this act, that I can’t see what you’re really doing.”

_What she was really doing?_ Arthur looked at Merlin, confused, but Merlin’s face was blank, his eyes dulled and tired. If this wasn’t about their relationship, then Arthur was witnessing something deeper. Something he really should not be seeing, not unless Merlin wanted to share it with him. But Merlin wasn’t even looking at him, had forgotten all about him, caught between his memories and feelings, and the coiled body of rage that was his mother. His phone was vibrating through his coat pocket but he ignored it.  

Hunith looked at her son, shaking her head in disgust. “I can’t believe this Merlin. I raised you better than this--” Arthur saw Merlin bite down on his lip hard at this, “--but I can see that you won’t be reasonable.” She bent to retrieve her things, fanning her hand out and dragging all the items into her bag, back stiff and mouth pursed. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Fine,” Merlin said, devoid of emotion. Never had Merlin looked more like a cardboard cut out of himself, lifeless and still. There was almost a different person standing before Arthur, one that he couldn’t fathom belonging to cheeky, forthright man who had propositioned him on the train. “But leave here with only what you came with.”

Hunith snapped up. “ _What did you say to me?_ ” 

Merlin glared. “You heard me.” 

“Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your mother!” 

“Don’t you dare play that card with me!” 

Their voices were escalating again. Hunith was emptying her bag on the floor in front of Merlin’s feet, and Merlin still wasn’t moving, was hardly reacting at all except to scream over the top of her. 

He was aware of himself being moved, led out the door and into the hallway. Neither of the two fighting noticed. “Look, no offense, but I think you’d better leave,” Will muttered quietly. “They’re going to be at it for a while-- it’s not something you need to be around for.” 

He looked at Will curiously. “What makes you think that?” _Why you and not me?_

He grinned back ruefully. “Family only stuff, you know?”

*

Then he was staring at the door closing, and he wanted to walk right back in there, wrap Merlin up tight and cover his eyes and ears and tell Will and Hunith to go away, go away until Merlin went back to normal, put a paintbrush in his hands and put a dress shirt on his shoulders and watch him glide over the white canvas effortlessly, watch those elegant fingers cake themselves in colours that would smear on the cuffs and get in his hair and wiggle back into bed next to Arthur, cold toes and nose and smelling like turpentine. 

His phone buzzed again through his coat pocket. He took the call. 

*

The next two days were a hectic haze of finalising contracts, incessant calls from shareholders and catnaps on his sofa that was still not a therapist’s chair. Morgana was berating the secretaries constantly and even Gwen was starting to look frazzled. Mordred showed up with the same report four different times until Arthur finally signed off on it and Lancelot called to ask when his wife would be in a better mood, to which Arthur simply hung up. 

Arthur checked his phone constantly, but there were only stock market updates and frantic messages from management who had suddenly forgotten to function without someone looking over their shoulders. 

On the third day, Morgana threw a heavy stack of papers at his head and demanded that he go home, as she was sick of staring at his miserable face. 

At home, he was restless. Now that he had left the office all the management staff had rerouted their calls to Morgana and Gwen, leaving his blackberry bereft of any messages. He gave it another hour before he got up, took a shower and left for Merlin’s. 

*

The door had been left unlocked, which was utterly stupid and he would have told Merlin off for it, except that as soon as the door opened all the way the fumes from the turpentine made his head swim.

The room was in utter chaos. There was paint splattered all over the floor and canvases littering every surface. They were drying in clumps of paint, queasy to look at in browns and greens and blacks, and Arthur averted his gaze quickly. The kitchen nook was covered in unwashed mugs with brushes sticking out of them, dishes that were dirtied with paint in dried blobs. A cupcake tray was in the sink, it’s shallow molds dripped with colour that had dried in motion. The trail of dirty kitchen ware led back to Merlin, standing in the centre of his cushions and bean bags and stabbing at the canvas furiously, paint splashed back on his face and smeared from where he had wiped with his hands and sleeves. There were piles of canvases circling the easel, keeping Arthur away from reaching him. He called out to Merlin, first softly but then more urgently but Merlin didn’t hear him, stabbing at his creation with increasing speed.

Finally, Merlin tossed the canvas to one side and picked up another from the pile, limbs stiff and jerky, sloshing more paint onto a plate carelessly, mixing and mixing and wetting his shirt where he was using it to hold the plate in place and then slashing the paint onto the new canvas -- the new canvas that was already covered in paint, one that he had shown Arthur that night, that reminded him of sweltering heat and clothes sticking to the skin. It was disappearing under murky, uneven dark hues, becoming a wash of tar.

Arthur took a quick turn of Merlin’s flat again, aghast. No wonder there were so many canvases hanging about drying --Merlin had been painting over his work. 

He stepped carefully over the canvases, pulling Merlin into his chest. The dish clattered onto the floor and Merlin made a horrible keening sound, struggling in his arms. His thrashing was weak, and when Arthur turned him around so that they could face each other, Arthur could tell why. 

Underneath the streaks of paint, Merlin’s face was pallid, hollowed out and unshaven. His lips were cracked, dried blood dotting his flaky lips and painful looking, his eyes bleary and unfocused, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with bags. Arthur traced a sharp cheekbone, feeling the roughened skin from sleeplessness and too long standing in front of the easel, the pad of his thumb tenderly curving, his fingers unfurling and cupping Merlin’s face, stubble prickling under his touch, murmuring, barely audible, “Sweetheart, what have you done with yourself?”

And Merlin seemed to collapse into it, turning into his palm and nuzzling absently, eyes finally focusing. “Arthur?” It came out soft, confused but hopeful. Merlin’s paint stained hands came up to cover his hand, and once he confirmed that it was real, gripped it with all his might. “Arthur-- I really wanted to see you, but I wasn’t in a good mood,” or at least that’s what Arthur thought he might have said -- his words were so slurred. 

He had gathered Merlin to him again without realizing, tucking Merlin’s head into his shoulder and murmuring, “that’s okay, that’s fine. Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, alright?” Running his fingers through hair that was still soft, over the back of Merlin’s neck, smooth and warm under his touch as Merlin nodded and made soft noises into Arthur’s collarbone. They shifted until Merlin was tucked securely against his side, leaning heavily onto Arthur and following gentle prompts to move to the bathroom.

As soon as he got close enough to it, he could see that Merlin was not going to be able to get clean in there. There was paint all over the sink, all over the tiles in Merlin’s shower. Towels were, for some inexplicable reason, strewn on the floor and sponging up water. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that Merlin had managed to clog up both the sink and shower. Out in the bedroom, not only were the surfaces in here also covered with violent canvases, but the overpowering smell of acrylics and turpentine were making Arthur lightheaded just standing in the doorway. Merlin hadn’t opened the window to air out the room. 

The man in question was steadily becoming heavier and heavier, now that he wasn’t driven to stay awake with his paints he was fighting to remain awake, head lolling every time Arthur turned. 

There was no way Arthur would let Merlin stay here. He called for a cab and brought Merlin back to his flat instead. 

*

When he woke up just past dawn, alone in his bed, he wondered if he had made it all up. Had he crawled into bed exhausted, missing Merlin so fervently he had dreamt of rescuing Merlin from himself in his flat that was more a distorted cavern of malice and loathing than the vibrant, warm hearth he’d come to associate it with, and delivered him to a safe haven, to be with Arthur happily ever after? 

Good lord, his subconscious was a goddamn sap. He rolled over and smothered himself in his pillow.

And shot up, because his pillow smelled suspiciously of Merlin.  

*

He wasn’t in the kitchen. 

But that was alright, because his kettle wasn’t in the right place, and that was enough for Arthur to know it had all really happened. He really had called professional cleaners to clear up Merlin’s flat and come to bed to find Merlin rolling around on his duvet, laid out on a towel he’d declared “so _fluuuuffffffffffy_ ” and rolled his eyes, nudging him under the covers and had Merlin press up close, clean and sweet smelling and instantly dead to the world with Arthur’s hand in his hair. 

He wondered if Merlin had already taken off, but padded into the living room with a mug of tea and found Merlin curled up on one side of his white chaise, the best seat in the house to enjoy the colours of the early morning brighten up the sky. 

“Can’t believe you’re up,” he said quietly, sliding next to Merlin. 

“Got thirsty,” Merlin murmured, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “Then got distracted by the sunrise. Your flat lacks paints.”

“Mm,” he hummed, non committal. He didn’t think Merlin would appreciate his thoughts on his artistic habits right at that moment. Instead, he put his arm around Merlin, rubbing up and down his arm slowly, drinking his tea and feeling relaxed and calm and thinking he’d have to thank Morgana somehow. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Merlin confided quietly, tracing lines on Arthur’s ridiculously comfortable sleep pants. “Thought you wouldn’t want to, that the stupid fight between me and mum must have scared you off.” His next words were muffled, nose cold against Arthur’s neck. “Never so happy to hear someone call me ‘sweetheart’ in my life.”  

“I haven’t called anyone that before,” Arthur reciprocated, low and intimate. “And I always want to see you.” And that close, he could feel Merlin’s breath catch, the fingers digging into his thigh momentarily.

“Put that mug down and kiss me,” Merlin demanded, but his voice trembled and it went up at the end, more of a request disguised as a demand. Arthur hadn’t kissed Merlin in over three days, and he was surprised by how ravenous he was for it, but the lips under his were cracked, Merlin was whimpering into it even though he was pulling Arthur closer, hands around his neck. He forced himself to be gentle, to lave and savour and swallow Merlin’s ridiculously sweet noises, to be soft and open and lap up everything Merlin was offering, tongues gliding over lips, tips touching but retreating soon after, maybe shy, maybe not wanting to take it any further.

The kiss slowed, lingered, lips catching lips again and again until Merlin’s breathing evened out, his arms loose around Arthur’s waist and Arthur was extracting himself reluctantly, but careful, shifting Merlin so he lay down completely on the chaise, hand pillowed beneath his head. He left the room and came back ready to face the day, tucking Merlin in another blanket and placing a fond kiss on the side of his temple before heading out the door, leaving Merlin to sleep undisturbed, facing away from the brightening light of the sun.

 

*

Halfway through the day, Arthur realised he hadn’t left keys -- his own or Merlin’s -- or a note, or even told Merlin he was welcome to stay for however long he liked. He couldn’t even ring up to tell Merlin not to go anywhere because he didn’t have a land line anymore.

“Shit.” 

“Fuck, I know right?” Morgana grumbled, drinking out of a thermos that was more hazelnut liqueur than coffee. “I can’t fucking wait until we fly out next week and get this shit over with.”

He stared at her over open reports and account receivables. 

_"Shit.”_

*

To Gwen’s approval (and Morgana’s leer), he left the office at five on the dot. Gwen and he shared a lift to the ground floor, and he waited until Lancelot drove up in front of the building with Tom in the backseat -- scrunching his little fists while Arthur made faces at him -- before flagging down his own cab back to his flat. 

He had kept checking his phone the entire day, only to keep remembering that Merlin didn’t have his, and then getting annoyed at himself for repeating this at least once every ten minutes. His loafers tapped out an impatient staccato all the way to Westminster, and he barely acknowledged the doorman’s existence on his way past, pushing the lift buttons until it came, annoyed at how slow it was that day, a thought compounded by how long it took for the bloody thing to get up to the top level and open its doors. He fumbled with his keys -- shocking, only half past five after all, he shouldn’t have let Morgana wheedle him into drinking her “coffee” --  

The door finally gave way and he was in, loosening his tie and shrugging out of his jacket, looking around to see where Merlin--

Where Merlin was just as he left him, on the couch. Specifically, eating crisps from a bowl blowing up zombies on the telly with Arthur’s Xbox.  

“I don’t remember having crisps,” he said, after releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been keeping in. He undid the top button of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, noting vaguely that time had slowed down considerably, and he remembered to close the door and pick up his jacket off the floor.

“Explains why they’re kind of stale I guess,” Merlin replied, eyes glued to the screen. The blanket Arthur had wrapped around him this morning was balled up in his lap, supporting the bowl of crisps. He nosed the bowl, and after a moment Arthur heard crunching. 

Right. Arthur had forgotten what a twenty year old deemed as acceptable methods of eating. 

He picked the bowl up and away, which prompted disgruntled sounds from the lump in front of his telly. He placed the bowl on the side table and settled on the other end of the couch. “Really, was there nothing else to eat?” 

Merlin paused the game and glared, licking his lips to remove crumbs. “I wouldn’t have resorted to stale crisps if _someone_ hadn’t run off with his keys and stranded me in his flat.” Dropping his eyes to his blanket-filled lap, he fiddled with the Xbox controller. “I mean, I just assumed you wouldn’t mind if I stayed. But if you don’t have food next time, it’s totally a deal breaker,” he continued hurriedly, pushing buttons in a random order over and over. 

Arthur took off his glasses and cleaned them with the fabric of his shirt, stalling. “I’m very good at ensuring that deals don’t break down,” he said finally. “I’ll make I’m stocked up from now on.”

By the time Arthur had his glasses back on, Merlin had put the controller on the floor, smiling stupidly at the telly, and then into the balled up blanket on his lap, and then at Arthur. “So,” he started, pushing the blanket aside and crawling towards Arthur. “Have I told you how hot those glasses make you look?” 

“Once or twice,” Arthur murmured. Merlin’s eyes were heated, his mouth wicked. Arthur saw his pale fingers loop through his loosened tie and pull, his mouth hovering over Arthur’s parched lips for a lifetime before pressing down, insistent, urgent, open mouthed and messy, moving on just as Arthur pressed back. Merlin mouthed a wet trail down his jaw, over his adam’s apple, pulling his tie free, the friction from the fabric rubbing against his neck an unbearably itch. Merlin loosened the top button of his shirt, sucking at the bared skin, and then the next button, and then the next, his other hand wandering down, rubbing the leather of his belt, contemplative. When his fingernails scratched at the zip of Arthur’s trousers, he hauled Merlin back up for another kiss, pressing their bodies close. 

Merlin laughed into it, completely unabashed. “What? I was having fun.” 

For some reason, Arthur’s brain thought it was a good a time as any to say what was on his mind: “I’m going to Hong Kong next week.”

Merlin sat back. Arthur could sense his confusion, his mind trying to reconcile what correlation it had to any sex act in his repertoire. Then he groaned, slumping onto Arthur’s chest, words muffled. “Oh my god, it’s like you don’t _want_ to have sex.”

Merlin sat back eventually. He was still on Arthur's lap, but only resting there and contemplative, rather than seductive. He fiddled with the neck of Arthur’s tie, running his fingers back and forth, a gentle pull on Arthur’s neck. 

“Hong Kong, huh?” Merlin said, looking thoughtfully at his fingers, now threading through the windsor knot of Arthur’s tie. “How long?” 

Arthur paused before answering, rubbing at Merlin’s exposed hip bone, jutting out just above of his borrowed sweats. “I’ll be leaving next week--” Merlin nodded along, making a noise of agreement. 

“--For two weeks, most likely three.” 

Merlin abruptly went from nodding his head to shaking it, vigorously making a louder noise that was not agreeable at all. “Uh-- yeah, that’s not going to work out for me. Can we negotiate on that time frame?” he asked hopefully. 

Arthur out and out laughed, jostling Merlin from his seat and causing him to find purchase on Arthur’s shoulders. “No Merlin,” he said, smiling slightly. “That’s very much not negotiable. Believe me, I’ve tried.” 

“But,” Merlin protested, aghast. “We won’t get to celebrate your birthday if you’re away that long! What are you doing, building a new Wall of China?” 

After wanting to correct Merlin about his horrific knowledge of world landmarks, the realisation that Merlin actively went and learned when his birthday was ignited pleasurable warmth from somewhere within him. Thanks to recent drama and administrative chaos at the office, Arthur had forgotten his birthday was almost upon him, and he hardly took much stock in the day in any case. He fought to hide the smile surging from within, while Merlin pouted in the process of tying Arthur’s tie into knots that were more bows than Windsor's. How had he even--? “How did you know when my birthday was?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur and said, “Your phone, duh.” To illustrate, he snuck his hand into the back pocket of Arthur’s trousers and retrieved it. He broke into the calendar section and pointed to the planned event clearly marked as Arthur’s birthday. “See?”

Arthur nudged the arm holding the phone in front of his face away. “You make a habit of breaking into my phone Merlin?” Arthur said, amused. The arm just wound itself around his neck, putting his face ever closer to Merlin’s.

Merlin tsk-ed at him, licking at Arthur’s mouth, the hand not on his neck back to fiddling with his belt. “You should put a number lock on it or something,” Merlin told him, as though he were truly concerned with educating him instead of, well, trying to stick his hand back down Arthur’s trousers. 

Outwardly Arthur was calm, but inside he was thoughts roiled uncomfortably. Was that it? That was all Merlin was going to say about his being out of the country for half a month or more? Arthur found himself disconcertingly disappointed. 

Ignorant to his internal dialogue, Merlin continued to speak, murmuring against his mouth and stealing kisses. “Besides, I already found--” the teeth of his trouser’s zipper came undone slowly, Merlin teasingly running his nails up and down the seam. “--The folder of pictures you have of me on there.” 

Arthur stiffened immediately, panic overriding his musings on Merlin’s apparent unconcern. It prickled along every nerve ending as he wondered exactly what kind of excuse he could offer up for his behaviour. His whole body stilled, prompting an unhappy Merlin to make a sound of frustration. “Oh my god! What! What is it now?” He glared at Arthur accusingly, grinding down on his lap to show how Arthur just how hard Arthur’s uncooperativeness was on him.  

Arthur could only slide his gaze away guiltily. 

Merlin looked at him as though he were very strange, before suddenly grinning gleefully. “Oh _my_ ,” he said, drawing out the words. “Mister Arthur Pendragon, did you think I did not know?” Merlin laughed heartily. “You are so _cute_ ,” he murmured happily into Arthur’s mouth. 

“I’m forty.” Arthur replied, not at all sulkily. Merlin gave him a peck on the nose, and Arthur felt all the tension in his body dissipate. 

“And _so cute_.” Merlin cooed, patting his cheek. He twisted in Arthur’s lap, his back to Arthur’s front, covering the hand Arthur was resting on his hip and guiding it to the prominent ridge in his lap, cool as you please, while thumbing through Arthur’s blackberry. Arthur pressed down lightly, and was rewarded with Merlin’s hips canting forward, a hitch in his breath, hand clutching Arthur’s phone too tightly. Arthur buried himself in Merlin’s pale neck, unable to resist the need to kiss and bite as Merlin shakily resumed fumbling through phone menus. “You have a lot of pictures of hickeys...” he panted, grinding into Arthur’s torturously slow rubbing. He turned his neck, smiling cheekily, eyes glazed. “Is that a kink, you dirty old man?”

Arthur returned to the pale expanse, biting down hard. “Yes,” he replied roughly. It was newly developed, something about Merlin’s pale skin, marked up by his hands and mouth, of knowing how each and every mark arose from their time together, something primal, possessive. “Just like this,” he jerked Merlin’s hip back towards him, freeing his hand to find Merlin’s sensitive nipple under his thin shirt and tugging roughly, before gently circling it, and then moving onto the other. “Makes you beg for it,” he finished, biting down hard on a delicate lobe, Merlin squirmed deliciously against him, half laughing, half groaning with need.

“Mmm,” Merlin agreed, hand twining in Arthur’s hair and body oscillating between rubbing against Arthur’s erection and Arthur’s hand on his cock. “More...So good...I want--” The lines of Merlin’s neck was taut, his breathing laboured and sharp, proof that he was already close. 

Arthur chuckled into the heated skin of his neck. “No stamina at all.”

Merlin keened in disapproval, but was otherwise too occupied to complain. The cloth of Merlin’s borrowed sweats was wet with pre-come; Arthur would let Merlin keep them, as he wouldn’t be able to wear them again without getting aroused -- there were enough things he couldn’t do anymore without thinking about sex and Merlin, he needn’t make things worse for himself. He stroked the damp cotton, palm circling on the tip peeking out above the waistline. Merlin jerked, dropping the phone he still held in his hands to the floor with a clatter. 

“Clumsy,” he murmured, mouthing the line of Merlin’s jaw. “Are you going to come all over the floor too?” Using his thumb, he toyed with the slit of Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s hips stuttered, gasping. “M’really--” 

“Yeah,” Arthur agreed, stroking faster. 

“Hey, wait--” Merlin moaned out, grabbing Arthur’s hand to stop his stroking. He led it back to Arthur’s own trousers. “Help me get these off first.” Arthur complied readily as Merlin pressed wet, open mouthed kisses down his front, unbuttoning his shirt to expose more flesh, sliding down until he was on his knees on the floor between Arthur’s legs. He batted away Arthur’s hand, replacing it with his own grip around Arthur’s cock. Arthur groaned, tipping his head back slightly at the feel of heated flesh on flesh.

Then Merlin started fumbling for Arthur’s discarded phone, ignoring the very insistent problem he was holding in his hand entirely. 

“Merlin,” Arthur demanded hoarsely. “What can you possibly be doing?”

“Hold on, I’m busy,” Merlin chided, stroking Arthur’s cock hard a couple of times, placating, as he fiddled with the damned device. He finally made a sound of triumph, flipped the phone in front of him and-- 

And then started to talk to it?

“Hello Arthur,” he said to the screen cheerily. “You’re in Hong Kong right now, and I miss you!” He pouted, then stuck his tongue out and slowly, slowly lapped at the tip of Arthur’s cock, guiding it to his mouth and rubbing the wetness from it all around his lips, like a caress. Arthur’s mouth went dry. Was Merlin really--? “So I hope this video will keep you company since I can’t.” Then he tossed the phone at Arthur, and instructed him, “hold it steady now!” Giving him a filthy grin, before diving down and taking Arthur in from root to tip. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur’s phone vibrated in his front pocket. He checked it briefly, only a confirmation of the chauffeurs waiting to take them to their hotels when they landed in Hong Kong. Before he put his Blackberry back in his pocket, he went back to view the previous message, hit with a surprising ache as it materialised on screen.  

_Safe trip!_ It read, above a badly lit photo of Merlin holding an article of the TSA underneath his chin, grinning innocently. Before he’d left Merlin’s flat last night, he’d been presented with a pair of briefs inked metallically with the American 4th Amendment. 

“You do realise we’re British?” Arthur had remarked skeptically, remarkably unsurprised to find Merlin had bought the briefs in the correct size for him. He had always thought he’d shunned relationships because he liked his privacy, previous partners had proven too nosy for his liking. Soppily, he thought that maybe it had just taken Merlin coming along to make him realise that his rules didn’t quite mean as much as he thought they did. 

“You never know,” Merlin had replied cheerily. “If I was a transport official, I’d definitely ask you to step aside.” He punctuated that with a leer. 

“Charming,” Arthur had said drily. Though for some ridiculous reason, he had found Merlin’s waggling eyebrows to be exactly that, and pulled him in for another kiss before leaving him at the door. 

The inside of Heathrow was muggy, full of people going on trips for business or leisure, dragging their suitcases behind them or pushing them along in a trolley. It was not unlike a supermarket, with the sounds off planes taking off background music as they shopped duty free. Arthur leaned back into the uncomfortable plastic seats, waiting for their 11pm boarding call. 

To his left, Morgana was going over personnel files with Mordred, who was scrawling intensely on his own blackberry with his stylus. She had the business proposal tucked under one arm, colourful tabs slipping out from its pages, sipping daintily from her overpriced airport latte. She caught his eye as she took another sip, glaring at him for ever proposing the take over of Moria Ltd. to be a grand idea. 

To his right, Gwen was tucked into Lancelot’s side, Tommy on her knee, spending as long as she could with her family before having to leave them behind at the gate. She tucked a strand of Tommy’s hair behind his ear at the same time Lancelot did the same to her. 

Arthur felt Morgana still, contemplative and wistful, and Arthur realised he must have the same look on his face as well, yearning for something that they never received in their childhood together under Uther’s utilitarian upbringing. He sometimes wondered whether his mother would have been like Gwen, the force that held the family together, the sun who they revolved around. Morgana at least might have memories from before her adoption, but Morgana never offered any information and Arthur never asked. 

Tommy was tired, and two blinks away from sleep. He slipped off of Gwen’s knee and crawled over the plastic arm rests towards him, leaving his parents behind, unwittingly letting them share some time alone together. 

“Uncle Arthur,” Tommy said, yawning. “Mummy says airplanes are big metal boxes that fly through the air like birds. Is that true?”

“Yes, Tommy,” Arthur said, patting his soft brown curls. “That’s correct.”

“Wouldn’t that be too heavy to fly?” Tommy asked stubbornly. “Molly’s only small and she can’t even float.” Molly was the Du Lac’s beloved pet cat, beloved to the point where Tommy liked to try and get her to take baths with him. As one might expect, wherever Tommy was, Molly was very unlikely to be. 

“Careful,” Arthur teased, tickling Tommy around the middle with one hand. “Molly might grow bigger than you and eat you for a midnight snack.” 

Tommy’s indignant squawk was drowned out by the P.A. system, a smooth voice informing them to prepare to board the aircraft. Arthur got up with Tommy in tow, depositing him into Lance’s waiting arms.

Tommy hugged his father around the neck and gave his mother a kiss, and Arthur smiled as he turned away, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket to answer his phone. 

“Arthur Pendragon.”

“Hey old man,” Merlin’s tinny voice replied cheerfully. “You haven’t boarded yet?”

“Just about to,” Arthur replied, waving back at Tommy as he picked up his laptop case. “Why? Cheating on me already?” Lance and Gwen looked at him curiously, and Morgana outright stared, mouth agape. Mordred caught the business proposal that fell from her loosened hold. 

Peals of laughter rang across the radio waves. “Yup, covering my tracks so you don’t walk in on me and my other hot businessman boyfriend,” he teased.

“You’re terrible,” he informed Merlin seriously. “If the sheets are washed, I’ll know.” Morgana leaned in close, all the better to eavesdrop and Arthur rolled his eyes at her. Gwen and Lancelot looked at him, pained, when Tommy loudly asked what would Uncle Arthur find out if the sheets were washed?

“Can’t wash the sheets,” Merlin said, or so Arthur gathered. It was very noisy where Merlin was too. “Your smell is fading off as it is,” he finished offhand. Arthur didn’t know how to respond to that, too stuck on the image of Merlin rolling around on his too small bed, snuggling into the pillows, breathing in deep, adorned in one of Arthur’s shirts, splattered with paint. “Um, anyway,” he rushed on quickly, as though embarrassed. 

“Yes?” Arthur was thoroughly amused.

“I’m actually in Heathrow right now, but I don’t know what gate your flight’s leaving from?” Boarding for his flight was announced again, echoing from Merlin’s end as well as overhead. “I wanted to surprise you but, I kind of got lost...Arthur?” Merlin’s cheery prodding brought Arthur back out of his surprising burst of affection towards the man across the line. 

“Gate 39,” he answered, still slightly stunned. Merlin hung up as soon as the breath left his mouth, and he took the phone from his ear, automatically placing it back in the inside pocket even as he searched for Merlin’s lanky form. 

“Arthur.” Morgana touched his elbow. “We need to board.” The line in front of the gate was short. The airline crew looking at them expectantly, Morgana even more so. “Was that...?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, craning his neck further, as though it would make Merlin that much more visible. “I guess you’ll meet him now rather than after the trip.” 

He didn’t notice Morgana’s shocked gaze, nor her stiffening posture as Merlin finally came into view, gray scarf splattered with blue and red paint fluttering behind him. Arthur raised his hand and would have called, but Merlin had already spotted him, grinning in that endearingly idiotic way of his and jogging the last of the distance between them. “Safe trip,” he murmured, clutching onto Arthur’s lapels and angling his head down to meet his lips gently, inviting Arthur’s tongue to mingle with his open mouthed kisses. He tasted like mints, and orange juice, and smelled like the rain. His neck was damp from weather or from exertion, cold under his touch. 

A pointed clearing of a throat reluctantly made them part, Arthur’s hand still on the small of Merlin’s back, guiding him to come face to face with Morgana. 

“Morgana Le Faye.” 

She looked him up and down akin to a snake in a pet shop, and stiffly held out a hand, which Merlin pumped enthusiastically.

“Arthur’s sister right? I’m Merlin. Arthur talks about you all the time.” 

She smiled politely. “Does he? He’s only mentioned you very briefly.” 

Arthur shot her a warning look as Merlin’s smile floundered. He squeezed Merlin’s hip reassuringly. “Because I actually work in the office Morgana. If I didn’t let you gossip you lot would never get any work done.” 

Then Gwen came up, Lance and Tommy in tow. They danced very curiously around Merlin, prodding him verbally and probably making Merlin regret coming out to the airport. The toddler on Lance’s shoulder was so interested in Merlin’s scarf than the adult conversation, almost yanking the wool off of Merlin’s neck in his play. 

Awkward, stilted conversation from the girls and Lance annoyed Arthur, but Merlin seemed to take it in stride, jovial and cheerful as ever. The final boarding call sounded overhead, the airport crew looking very pointedly at them until they picked up their bags and made for the gate. 

Arthur gave Merlin a quick squeeze and slung his laptop bag over his head, making to join Morgana and Gwen’s determined strides. A tug on his sleeve jacket halted him, and turning back he was met with a hard, desperate kiss and a warm, tight embrace. “Don’t cheat on me with pretty Asian boys,” Merlin muttered into his neck, arms clinging to his back.

“Okay. Take care of my plants?” He murmured back, pressing a chaste kiss to the slant of his cheek.

“Okay.”

And then Merlin was waving at him shyly, standing with a two person gap between him and Lance, Tommy reaching out trying to get to Merlin’s scarf, the newest thing he felt he must play with, as Arthur gave the attendant his ticket and entered the tarmac, climbing the steps onto the plane and being shown to his seat. 

He stretched his legs out, and tilted his chair back, already signalling the steward for a glass of red. Two hands, one pale and one dark, grabbed onto his shoulders and pushed him back. 

“What,” Morgana started. “The hell was that?”

 

* 

“You’re not serious, Arthur. You cannot be serious!” Morgana raged, manicured nails stabbing fitfully into his chest. 

“He’s...very young, Arthur,” Gwen said more delicately, but accusatory all the same. 

“Can this wait,” Arthur remarked with forced lightness, stopping the stabbing of his flesh by pointedly catching Morgana’s hand mid-jab. He looked pointedly at Mordred. The man sat two rows behind them and had looked out the window with quite pointed interest. Seemingly surprised that Mordred was there at all, the two women eased back into their seats in a more composed manner. Morgana then spent the rest of flight alternating between glaring at Arthur, conversing tersely with Mordred, and drinking. Gwen shot him considering looks in between watering down Morgana’s drinks, and Arthur ignored them both to watch old football matches. He also may have turned the pages of the latest marketing proposal with a little more force than necessary.

Not an auspicious start to an important business trip. 

As soon as the plane landed in Hong Kong, Morgana exploded out of the airport into the humid air, dismissed Mordred to the hotel, and dragged Arthur and Gwen to the nearest acceptable bar, rowdy and uncomfortably crowded. Minimal glare from neon lights streamed through the windows, giving the illusion of enough privacy for both Gwen and Morgana to talk over each other at once.

“He had better be some fling of yours Arthur--” he heard first; Morgana, livid.

“--I mean, it looked like you could have been his father--” he heard next; Gwen, doubtful. He had opened his mouth to defend Merlin, but they had barley warmed up.

“--he is going to suck you dry and spit you out, you daft--" 

“--does he know what being in a relationship with you really means, did you let him know--” 

“--fucking use you for your money and connections and you are going to try so hard to please him but it’s not going to be--”

“--and I mean, do you even know if he’s really comfortable being with you or just, do you just think so--”

“--don’t get serious about him Arthur, don’t even think about getting--”

“--you’re just so far apart in age, do you really see this working out? What if you tire of him, he’ll be--”

“--you’ll be left with nothing and no one except the remnants of your arrogance and your fucking self esteem gone down the fucking--" 

“--please think about how this is going to affect--”

And then Arthur just got up and walked out. The humidity did nothing for his outrage, his disappointment; he couldn’t even make noise, the sounds of vowels and consonants mixing with something heavy in his chest, closing up his throat. He walked to the hotel, walked up the stairs and into his room. He removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, stepped out of his trousers and pants and into the shower. The pressurised cold water drowned out the incessant noise in his head.

He couldn’t even muster up a smile for the text Merlin had sent - _I’m keeping my end of the bargain!_ coupled with a picture of his sopping wet house plant. He sent back a lackluster _I said water, not drown, thanks_ , and almost immediately Merlin texted back, _I know how you can thank me 8====D_ , which finally lifted the corners of his mouth. He had already thumbed in _How juvenile can you ge--_ before stopping cold, parsing the words and remembering

_you’re just so far apart in age_

and fuck. Fucking fucked up fuck. 

He left the text unanswered and slept badly. 

*

The next morning over breakfast Mordred handed him a coffee, hand lingering as blatantly as his gaze was coy and for fuck’s sake, how fucking inappropriate. He held his tongue throughout the endless meetings and tours and even the insistent after work drinks, until finally they were back at the hotel and he could storm into Morgana’s room and tell her in a tightly reined rage that he thought it best that Mordred be let go. 

Morgana looked at him coolly, eyebrow raised, and said, “Absolutely not. Mordred is indispensable to me.”

“Then kindly remind him that I sign off on his pay checks for his work, and not so that he can _make inappropriate sexual advances towards me_.” An absurd notion struck him as soon as those words left his mouth, but still he narrowed his eyes at Morgana, suspicion running rampant. “I can’t help but think that Mordred’s supposed interest comes at a rather odd time.”

Morgana did not avert her gaze, but her fingers twitched, interrupting the steady tap tap tap of her nails against her wine glass. Arthur felt his eyes widen, and couldn’t help but blurt out, “What on earth are you playing at?!” 

“ _I_ am not playing at anything,” she said, but there was a tremor running through the cool tone. “I am however, thinking that Mordred has been vetted, has proven himself, and is very loyal to us.”

_Unlike someone else I have just met,_ she meant, and did not need to say out loud. It wasn’t hard for him to read between the lines after thirty odd years of being her brother.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur shakes his head, floored. He saw it now, the cosmetic resemblance Mordred and Merlin shared: pale skin, blue eyes, dark hair, lithe form. They could have passed for relatives. “Utterly ridiculous! Putting aside how completely inappropriately you are behaving with an employee who you oversee directly, _you don’t even know Merlin!_ ”  

“Don’t I?” she seethed, slamming the wine glass on the side table, raising to her full height and taking a step toward him. “Young, attractive, _attracted_ to you,” she sneered. “Full of pretty phrases for you? Inviting you to his bed whenever you want? Being ever so understanding about your work schedule and your weird hang ups and oh, of course age doesn’t _matter_ \-- Don’t be so stupid, Arthur! You and I both know that anything that seems too good to be true--” Her spiel that had been ever increasing in volume suddenly cut out, her tense muscles suddenly cut loose as she turned away from him, so close her dark curls slapped against his body. 

Lights from outside streamed through in nauseating colours, even twenty floors above ground level. The trembling line of her shoulders dissipated most of the hot anger beneath his skin. Arthur’s hand raised to touch at her elbow.  

“Merlin isn’t like Alvarr,” he said, gentle but firm. Morgana didn’t say anything, but the trembling increased until Arthur realised that she was laughing.

Pure derision dripping off of her, “yes he is, Arthur. They’re exactly the same.” It was the last thing he could take on an utterly shit day. 

And when he got back to his hotel room, his mobile was dark and silent. There were no new messages waiting for him.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur sat down heavily in the arm chair of his hotel room, mini bar bottle of vodka and glass in hand. He poured himself the double shot and downed it angrily. He was _furious_ with Morgana - and Gwen. Normally he didn’t give a shit what his friends and family thought of his lovers - his _fucks_ \- but Merlin. Well, Merlin was different. Merlin was important to him. Merlin made him happy. And Morgana was trying - with some success, if the niggling doubt in his mind said anything - to fuck that up. And all because she was still smarting from making the mistake of falling in love with a younger charismatic con artist called _Alvarr_ ; anyone young and charming was now instantly suspicious in her mind.  

Arthur closed his eyes and thought about Alvarr, the man who had wormed his way so easily into their family, their trust. And the Pendragons Did Not Trust. He had adored Morgana. He was easy and charming. Polished. Refined. Cultured. His eyes were sharp, quick; intelligent, Arthur had thought. It had been calculation, not intelligence. He asked questions, always interested in Morgana’s family, the business, always seeking information. Digging, not supporting it turned out. Merlin’s eyes were soft, and he never asked for anything.

No matter how hard he tried to be objective, Arthur couldn’t see Merlin as being anything _like_ Alvarr, except that they were both young and free. Suddenly Arthur ached for him. He quickly pressed the call button, needing to hear Merlin’s voice.

He picked up after the third ring.

“Arthur!” he said breathlessly, as though he’d run to the phone, “I was in the shower, sorry! Shit! Ouch!” Arthur relaxed and snorted.

“Bruising yourself with your own sharp elbows again?” Arthur said in greeting. Merlin huffed. 

“Jealous that you’re not bruising me yourself, you kinky old man?” he asked playfully. Arthur clenched his fist, stomach dropping at the reminder of their age difference again. “Arthur?” Merlin said more hesitantly, caution in his tone this time. Arthur didn’t respond. Merlin eventually whispered out, “Arthur has something happened? Have you -?” he left the question hanging. Arthur wondered what he had been going to ask. _Have you cheated? Have you changed your mind about me?_ The answer was no, regardless.

“I fell out with my sister. And my best friend.” he said shortly. Merlin breathed out a soft _oh_ , sounding relieved. 

“Because of me?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arthur replied.

“Because I’m younger?” 

“Partly,” Arthur agreed. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin offered simply; Arthur knew there wasn’t much to say. “Look -“ Merlin started, in a careful tone. “I really like you Arthur. I don’t care what anyone thinks. My mum, your sister … it’s not their business.” Arthur had forgotten that Merlin was dealing with opposition from his own family.  

“Is it worth losing our families for?” Arthur wondered aloud, before thinking about the implications of that question. Shit. 

“Is what worth it?” Merlin murmured quietly. Arthur ran an impatient hand through his hair.

“I don’t know Merlin, what _are_ we doing exactly? Fantastic fucking? Will said you had a lot of _fucks_. I’m a tad on the boring side, by all accounts. Is that worth losing your family for?” Arthur heard Merlin’s sharp intake of breath and felt guilty immediately. He wished he could take it back. There was a ringing silence on the other side of the phone. 

“I think you’ve answered your own question,” Merlin said in a pained, but steady voice. “Bye Arthur.” The line went dead. 

*

The next fortnight passed torturously slowly, and Arthur wanted to tear off his own skin, too tight in his own body. 

The meetings went well, the deal was completed successfully, but Arthur had told Morgana the morning after his final conversation with Merlin that his private life was not something he would ever discuss with her again, and to drop it, and he was barely speaking to her, or Gwen, or Mordred as a result.

*

His flight back to the UK dragged more slowly than any journey of his life. He was desperate to get to Merlin, to see him, he had to _know_. Whatever had gone wrong between them couldn’t be sorted out by phone, so he didn’t try, he didn’t want to risk further damage. Instead he did what he was good at. He waited. And now he was just a few hours away from answers. What had he thrown away?

*

Merlin looked tired and pale and fragile and _gorgeous_ when he opened the door, dark circles under his eyes, a shadow along his jaw, hair messy, fingers covered in paint. He looked surprised to see Arthur standing in his doorway, agitated, energy rolling off him in waves. He hungrily crowded Merlin back into his flat and clicked the door closed behind him, pushing Merlin against the hall wall, hands sliding under his crumpled shirt, stroking the taught skin along his hipbone. 

Merlin’s head thumped back against the wall and his eyes closed in pain as he murmured “Arthur,” and arched into his touch. Arthur ran his nose down the perfect column of Merlin’s neck, against the immaculate shell of his ear, hands possessively reclaiming Merlin, running up his spine, running over his hard nipples and eliciting a long moan from Merlin. Arthur pulled the shirt over Merlin’s head, and untied his joggers, letting them pool to the ground round his ankles. 

He let his gaze travel over Merlin’s young, flexible, lithe body, his straining cock, his clenched fists, bitten lips, dark fluttering eyelashes, and he sank to his knees taking Merlin into his mouth and pulling his hips hard against his face, encouraging Merlin to fuck his mouth, to use him. Merlin started snapping his hips relentlessly, cock pushing down Arthur’s throat, his moves jerky, desperate, needy, but his hands gentle as they cradled Arthur’s head, a thumb softly running along Arthur’s jaw. 

“Nnnngggh,” Merlin whimpered articulately, as Arthur hollowed his cheeks and began to suck his brains out, loving the taste of Merlin, the texture, the smell, the weight on his tongue. Arthur could feel his tendons tightening, his knees weakening, he knew he was close, and as Merlin stuttered, “Arthur, I’m going to come, Arthur, Arthur,” Arthur looked up at him to make eye contact and slid his hands round to Merlin’s arse, the beautiful globes of flesh, and kneaded, gripped, squeezed, as Merlin came down his throat with a shout. 

Arthur pulled him down on to his lap and held him tightly against his body, arms wrapped around him, rocking him. Merlin tried to disentangle himself, to move away, but Arthur pushed him to the floor and crawled over him, pinning him to the floor with his body, pressing his erection against Merlin’s thigh. Merlin shuddered and closed his eyes again. 

“Merlin, look at me,” Arthur demanded. Merlin opened his eyes and met his gaze defiantly. “Have you been with anyone else?” Arthur asked him unsmilingly, urgently, and Merlin looked away, trapped underneath Arthur’s body.

“You have no right to ask me that Arthur,” he said, pulse jumping as Arthur continued to rock against him.

“Answer me,” Arthur instructed, close to his ear, bringing a hand to lift Merlin’s face towards his, forcing Merlin to look at him. 

“No, okay!” Merlin yelled angrily, tears in his eyes, face red, straining against him, “Have you? Fucked someone else enough times to prove that I don’t _matter_?” he spat out angrily, as Arthur mouthed at his neck, sucking a bruise there, marking him as _his_ again, biting the soft flesh, licking it soothingly afterwards as Merlin remained tense beneath him, body shuddering with emotion. 

“There’s been no-one else since I met you that day on the Tube,” Arthur admitted, looking into Merlin’s beautiful, sad, angry blue eyes. “I wanted to fuck you more than I’d wanted to fuck anyone before in my life. Arthur ran his hand down to Merlin’s soft prick, stroking it again, caressing his thighs, pressing soft kisses to Merlin’s forehead, temples, ears. “And then, to my surprise, I realised I wanted to _know_ you more than I’ve wanted to know anyone before in my life,” he continued thoughtfully, hands soothingly touching Merlin, “to understand you, to mark you as mine, claim you, look after you.” Merlin had gone still beneath him, and was looking at him now with a mix of fear and hope. “I realised, when I was away, that I’ve been holding back on you. I don’t do relationships Merlin. I don’t trust. I don’t let people in. Never wanted to. But I want to with you. I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to press love into every part of you. And I wondered,” Arthur paused to press his head into Merlin’s shoulder, mumbling against his naked skin, “I wondered whether that might be acceptable to you? Given that I’m a regular 9-5 type and old and all.” 

Arthur was suddenly pushed back on to the floor and Merlin was crying and laughing and scrambling on top of him, hands hurriedly unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt, unbuckling his belt; between them they got Arthur naked quickly, and then he lifted Merlin up and carried him into the bedroom and dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, Merlin rolling onto his stomach and letting his legs fall open invitingly, pulling up a knee to his side to reveal his dark puckered hole to Arthur, hand scrabbling in the bedside draw and pulling out a tube of lube and a condom, throwing them at Arthur, who quickly slicked his fingers and thrust them into Merlin, curling, scissoring, opening him, rubbing his prostate mercilessly until Merlin was writhing and whimpering like a whore beneath him, and then he slicked up his own penis and thrust inside without warning, hearing Merlin shout again.

“Arthur,” Merlin grit out through clenched teeth as Arthur pumped in and out of him, hard, deep, powerful thrusts, “ _God_ , Arthur, condom, condom …” 

“Shhh,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin’s arms above his head and sliding their fingers together, kissing Merlin’s neck as he took him roughly, pounding him into the mattress, “we’re not going to use condoms anymore sweetheart,” he said decisively, “I’m clean. I’m going to fill you with my semen and leave it inside you to keep you wet for when I fuck you again later.” Merlin pressed his face into the mattress and let out a sob, body pliant and melting beneath Arthur’s. “You’re mine, Merlin, no-one but me is to touch you like this ever again, do you understand me?” Merlin tightened his hold round Arthur’s fingers and nodded into the mattress submissively, allowing Arthur to use his body. Arthur pulled up onto his knees, pulling Merlin up with him, back against chest, head leaning back to rest on Arthur’s shoulder, eyes closed, and Merlin began to move up and down, riding Arthur lazily, pumping his cock into Arthur’s fist, reaching his arm back to pull Arthur’s head down, mouths finding each other, tongues pressing wetly into each other’s mouths, one of Arthur’s hands alternating between gripping his hip tightly enough to leave bruises and running lightly, teasingly over his nipples, lightly down his sides, and the other fisting his cock. 

Merlin’s body bowed and he shouted as he came again, followed by Arthur coming hard into him, and he stared unseeingly into the room as he got used to the experience of hot come coating his anal walls for the first time, more intimate than anything he’d ever experienced with anyone else, and he felt vulnerable as Arthur withdrew to collapse onto the bed. 

Merlin sat beside him for a little while, catching his breath. 

“Was that okay?” Arthur asked, looking up at him, running a hand down his arm. Merlin wanted to bite out that it was a bit late to ask that _now_ , but as it _was_ okay, it was perfect, he held his tongue, and snuggled into Arthur’s chest instead, pushing a leg between Arthur’s and running his foot up and down Arthur’s calf. 

“Yeah, it was average, I guess,” Merlin retorted with a smirk and a cheeky grin as Arthur tickled him in retaliation. 

“Oi! Seriously Merlin?” Arthur pressed, stroking a thumb down Merlin’s cheek. Merlin looked away again. “What is it, sweetheart?” Arthur asked, heart full of dread. Merlin looked sad as he traced patterns with his fingers over Arthur’s chest. 

“I’m in love with you too, Arthur,” he murmured softly, gaze firmly on Arthur’s stomach, “I have been since you cleaned me up with a wash cloth that first time.”

“But …?” Arthur asked. Merlin looked up at him and smiled his beautiful, earnest, sweet smile, shrugging slightly.

“No buts. I’ve never felt this way about _anything_ before in my life. You’re perfect and _so fucking hot_ and I don’t really get why you want me but I’m glad you do. It’s just that… there are things you don’t know about me, and I don’t think you’ll want me once you do.”

“What things?” Arthur asked feeling cold, moving away from Merlin and regarding him coolly. Merlin fidgeted with the sheet, still lying on his belly, and Arthur was momentarily distracted by the sight of semen - his semen - leaking out of Merlin’s arse and down his thighs. God he wanted to take a picture of that later. 

“My mum,” he said quietly. Arthur started and looked up. That was … unexpected.

“What about your mum?” he asked curiously, remembering the unexpected visit and the argument and being thrown out of Merlin’s flat by Will. Merlin kept his gaze firmly downwards, fingers worrying the sheets, as he answered.

“She’s … not well, I guess. She steals stuff and sells it, usually for drugs. It’s why my dad - Balinor - left us. She used to break into my room and steal the money he’d send me from time to time. So now … I prefer her not to be in my home. When she was here, with Will, she found a watch you left by my bed, I don’t know if you saw it on the floor with her stuff when she dropped her handbag? I’m so sorry Arthur, I got it back, it’s in my drawer … here …” Merlin rolled over to the draw and extracted a Rolex - one of many Arthur had - and pressed it back into his hand. “She only went polar on you to create a distraction, so I wouldn’t grill her about going through my stuff and taking anything she thought was valuable.” 

Arthur’s mind was reeling … this beautiful 22 year old was having to deal with _that_ instead of getting through his final year at uni. He’d kept it from Arthur because he was _embarrassed_. He’d kept Arthur’s watch safe for him, assuming that it mattered, not knowing that Arthur had _hundreds_ of these things. 

“I’m so sorry you precious, precious man,” he said softly, reaching out for Merlin, pulling him into the safe embrace of his arms, kissing every part of him he could reach. “You deserve so much more than that. You’re so strong. And I love you even more, for telling me, if that’s possible. I could never think less of you.” 

Merlin curled into his arms and clutched him, tears silently running down his cheeks. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

*

  _6 months later_

 

Arthur had told Merlin soon after their reconciliation who he really was and what he was really worth, not wanting any more secrets between them, and also wanting to excuse Morgana’s major overprotectiveness. Merlin had looked at him blankly like he couldn’t understand what Arthur was making a fuss about; Merlin didn’t give a shit what was in Arthur’s bank account and saw no reason for Arthur to feel the need to tell him. But, apparently, they were sharing personal financial information now, because Arthur felt it was important, so he shrugged and scratched his head. 

“Well, I’ve got, like, £180 quid in mine,” was his nonchalant response. Arthur couldn’t stop laughing, lighter than he’d ever been.

He moved Merlin in with him, turning one of the spare rooms into a studio for Merlin to paint in (this seemed like a generous gesture but actually it was to preserve the rest of his pristine flat, and Merlin’s raised eyebrows told him _he knew_ he was being a control freak and not just a thoughtful boyfriend).

In retaliation, Merlin took to painting whilst naked and then spreading his bare, irresistible, paint-streaked body over each and every available household surface; knowing that Arthur would fuck him senseless into each one of them, leaving paint marks and come splatters as a visual map of their domestic ardour, knowing that he couldn’t then blame Merlin for the stains.

When Arthur cooks, Merlin presses kisses along his shoulders and opens his mouth to allow Arthur to feed him from his fingers, sucking each digit clean with a small smile. 

When Merlin cooks, Arthur can’t control himself, more often than not causing Merlin to ejaculate into his bolognese or carbonara sauce and laughing when Merlin mumbles crossly afterwards about Arthur’s caveman-like behaviour and unhealthy obsession with his arse and utterly inappropriate lack of boundaries and only shutting up once Arthur fills his mouth with cock.  

Merlin turns 23, Arthur turns 41. When he has long days at work, Merlin (now an arts graduate working at a graphic design studio) tenderly massages him, kneels and suckles his cock, slowly strips naked and opens himself up in front of Arthur, heel rubbing Arthur’s crotch as he opens his legs with a suggestive wink and a “get inside me now, you sexy grandpa”. Then there’s the phone sex and sexting and photos and homemade porn when Arthur’s away on business. 

In their evenings on the sofa, Merlin sits in Arthur’s lap, totally confident of his place there, getting his cock out and snuggling back against Arthur as Arthur strokes him lazily in front of the TV. Merlin comes two or three times a day from hand jobs alone. 

They meet each other’s friends, and work colleagues. 

They murmur soft _I love you_ s into each others skin when curled around each other in bed every night. Arthur writes _I love you_ with his tongue on Merlin’s skin, against Merlin’s sensitive hole, tongue-fucking love into him. Merlin says _I love you_ with each explosive painting, each canvas a different shade of love, a different nuance of feeling; lust, hot and humid, care, soft and subtle, worship, liquid and golden, belonging, bold and bright.

When Merlin is 25 and Arthur is 43, he marries him in a registry office with their best friends Leon and Will as witnesses. Arthur didn’t want a prenup. He stands proud, grey hair flecking gold, handsome and middle-aged, immaculate in his Saville Row suit, as Merlin flings himself against him for their first marital kiss, skin flushed with the glow of youth, happiness, excitement, dark curls unruly, jeans and old shirt of Arthur’s spattered with _wedding day paint_ (Merlin thinks the feeling is yellow and purple). 

Morgana - and Gwen - have to accept that, three years into their relationship and now legally bound, Merlin is here to stay and they are going to have to make friends with him if they want Arthur in their lives.

Merlin welcomes them with open arms, of course, warm and lovely and forgiving and pleased to be part of a family, and Arthur’s leap of faith in love, in Merlin, eventually gives Morgana too, the courage to trust again. She falls in love with Merlin as well, in time. It’s impossible not to. He’s guileless, shameless, incapable of acting in any way that isn’t _exactly what he feels_. He’s passionate and giving and loving and true and Arthur’s obsession with him has gone so much further than his delectable arse. Merlin has become the proudest part of Arthur’s existence. 

After celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary at Merlin’s favourite curry house, Arthur has to leave for Heathrow on a business trip. Merlin texts him in the cab. 

 

_48, Pendragon, blue (colour of Merlin’s eyes)_

_Happy anniversary old man. Silver sexpot. Foxy at fifty. DILF (yet again, for the rest of my life), etc. I’ve got a dildo in my arse and I’m pretending it’s you._

_Oh and I’m madly in love with you (don’t tell my husband) xxxx_

 

Arthur snorts. Even after nearly a decade Merlin can make him hard with a text. He smiles and quickly types back a reply. 

 

_30, EMRYS-PENDRAGON :D, blue (colour of Arthur’s eyes) or gold (colour of Arthur’s hair) or red (colour of Arthur’s lips)_

_Still too old for you_

_Love you anyway xxxx_

 

Merlin - _i think you mean silver (colour of Arthur’s hair)_

Arthur - _i think you mean_ _silver (colour of Merlin’s HEART OF STEEL)_

Merlin - _that belongs to you too, prat. come home quickly, my prostate misses you. don’t cheat on me with wild frat boys._

Arthur - _okay. don’t kill my plants again_

Merlin - _that happened ONCE_

Arthur - _does that mean I get to cheat on you once?_

 

No response.

 

Arthur - _Merlin I’m kidding_

Arthur _\- Merlin?_

Arthur _\- Merlin?_  

Arthur _\- Sweetheart??_

 

A message comes through. A photo. A large black dildo stretching Merlin’s hole wide, his knee lifted, pale skin of his thighs shiny with lube. Arthur swears loudly. “Fuck.” Merlin is a manipulative bastard after all.

 

Arthur - _I’m coming home._

*

_THE END_

 


End file.
